


Unshaken by the Darkness, Book Two: Lights in the Shadow

by HereBeDragons



Series: Unshaken by the Darkness [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 344,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereBeDragons/pseuds/HereBeDragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhianna Cousland's duty weighed heavily in the year before she turned eighteen, when she was promised to a king, rather than the man she loved. Now, as she comes of age, a blight threatens to destroy her beloved homeland, and her life is about to take a turn she could never have expected. The sequel to "Unshaken by the Darkness, Book One: The Teyrn's Lovely Daughter" (so you might want to read that one first). Follows and expands upon game events, although it will deviate from canon in some ways. All origin stories will appear. Trigger warnings will be included at the beginning of chapters where they apply. Updated once a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

‹›‹O›‹›

For ages upon ages, he had slumbered.

Beneath tons of rock, in complete darkness, he slumbered.

After so very many years, he could barely remember how he had come to be trapped inside the earth. There was an impression of laughter, and agonizing pain, and then he could no longer stretch his wings, no longer feel wind upon his scales. He was enveloped by smells of sulfur and iron and the occasional whiff of something sharper. Something cold and intoxicating: the iridescent blue ore that snaked through the stone, though none broke through the walls of his prison. There was only darkness, and rock, and a faint pulse of music all around him. Or perhaps the music – just a single line of melody - came from within.

So he slumbered, and he dreamt, and in his dreams he relived memories, and flew even though his body was trapped. He saw mountains and rivers and the bright strip of sand along the shores of the sea. He saw the sun glint off his daughter's shining scales, as she made her first flight from a tall, chalky white cliff. He saw the mosaic of landscape below him: cities and farm fields, with bright blue rivers meandering through.

In his dreams, he banked on a current of wind, felt the sun warm his hide. He bellowed at the top of his lungs, and heard his mate return the greeting. He felt his teeth sink into the tender flesh of his prey, and tasted its blood. Everything he touched was made beautiful, with color and with song and with magic. He soared above the world, triumphant, occasionally descending to accept the offerings that were made by the tiny creatures who cringed at his feet, or who lifted their faces to him in awe. He was worshipped and hated and loved and feared.

Through it all, he sang the song of his ancestors in harmony with his brothers and sisters. The soaring, tender, magnificent song of dragonkind. The song that even now he continued to hum, though it sounded weak and broken with just a single part.

From time to time, he awoke, trapped and helpless, and the things he remembered only caused a yearning inside him, a yearning that threatened to break him, to shatter his mind and his heart and his soul.

So, instead, he slumbered.

After countless generations, the profound darkness robbed him of even his dreams. No longer could he see the faces of those he had loved, or remember their scent in his nostrils. No longer could he hear in his mind the melody chanted by the priests in his temple, a song that was merely a shadow of the majesty of dragonsong, but which cheered him, nonetheless, for its earnestness. The sunlit sky, and the stars twinkling overhead, were lost to him. Even his dreams became dark and blurry, full of shadows and impressions and things glimpsed in passing.

Still, he slumbered.

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed. Then, something tickled at him, something that came out of the darkness, came through it.

Sounds were the first things to come into his awareness. They entered his dreams, chittering and scratching, and then voices that grunted and growled in a mindless frenzy. They drew nearer and nearer, and echoed in the closeness of the chamber where he had been imprisoned for so very long. Then there were new smells, as well. Blood and ash and something darker. Something too sweet, like rotting fruit.

After so long in isolation, the sensations overwhelmed him. They haunted and mesmerized him, until finally the rock at his shoulder crumbled, and a breath of wind blew against his cheek. A single voice rose above the howls, a voice that didn't gibber mindlessly, but that spoke with a cadence too lyrical to be anything other than language, even though his tormented mind could not understand its meaning.

An unholy stench filled his nostrils, and then a horrible taste upon his tongue – of copper and ash and blue rock and despair – and he tried to recoil, but had nowhere to go, and then, like a tendril of root burrowing into his body, he felt it. A darkness that was slick and black and oily. That clung to him like algae on rock. A darkness that spread through him, corrupting all it touched. It sang to him, and left him both numb and ablaze with cold fire. It seeped through his skin and muscle and sinew, all the way into his bones. It made him want to claw off his skin, to rip and shred his own flesh. It made him want to roar and breath fire.

It made him want to stretch his wings and fly.

Flashes of memory haunted him – the curve of a wing in flight, temple incense, gleaming sunlight on water – but then, the memories began to fade. He tried to chase them, to grab hold of them, but they slipped away like water through his claws.

He tried to sing, but there was only an agonized roar as his mind no longer remembered the song, the song he learned before he had even hatched from his egg. The song he had sung every day of his life, and had hummed in his sleep for so long. This, too, he tried to grasp, but the melody twisted, the notes grew discordant and hollow, and the ends of the phrases failed to resolve. Instead of bringing peace, he was left aching in nothingness, disconnected from all he had ever been.

Frantic, he stretched one huge clawed foot and scratched at the place where the creatures had come through, began to widen the opening, began to tunnel his way out of this darkness. With each stroke, his pace increased, and he took no care with where he placed his claws. Only vaguely was he aware of the squeals and shrieks of the creatures who moved too slowly to avoid being impaled or shredded. The howls of those who were trapped with nowhere to retreat, and were crushed by the passage of his body.

He clawed his way through the rock until he found himself in open air. Not under the sky, but in a cavern whose walls stretched so high the ceiling was shrouded in shadow. Exhausted and bloody from scraping his body across jagged rock, he crawled to a ledge, and had to squint at the brightness down below: stinking, burning hot lava, impossibly bright to eyes that had not seen so much as the light of a single candle for ages. It seared his vision, but also warmed his skin and soothed the aches in his muscles from having lain motionless for so long.

For the first time in ages upon ages, he stretched himself out to his full length. All around him, voices gibbered and whispered. He wanted to push them away, but he couldn't. Their stench maddened him, and he tried to remember how this had happened, what had brought him here, but nothing was clear. The burning that had spread through his body and destroyed his song had corrupted his thoughts as well. His mind raced, desperate to find a thread to cling to, something to bind him to his past, to who and what he had once been. But there was nothing for him to grasp. Nothing but these creatures that surrounded him, scuttling like vermin.

They came to him, more and more all the time, and he hated them, wanted to kill them all. Wanted to rip them apart, to crush them in his jaws, but he was compelled and intrigued by them as well. And connected to them. Always connected.

This time, when he slept, it was born of exhaustion, and a desire to be free of the noise and the terror, even if only for a few hours.

A new dream came to him, one that felt and smelled different than any he'd had before. He dreamt of a creature with green eyes and dark hair. A creature that walked on two legs, and had lived most of its life in the light, but still had streak of darkness running through it.

A girl. A human girl. Why would such a frail, puny, pathetic creature appear in his dreams?

Strange as it was to find her here, her visage - wavy and unclear as if viewed through flowing water – gave him a feeling of something he might have called hope, if he could have found the word in his ravaged mind. Something in her called to him, and he struggled against the darkness that coursed through his veins, through the taint that burned in his blood. He reached out toward her with his mind. Even as he fought to form words in some language she might be able to understand, he reached out, and gave just the lightest touch.

_Listen . . ._

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Rhianna sat up in bed, and gasped for breath.

Weight pressed down on her, tons of rock, and everything was dark, and sulfur burned in her nostrils. She clutched at the ground beneath her, and her fingers ached with the effort as the familiar panic began to pull at her. It pinched and grabbed at her chest and twisted her stomach into a knot. It left her unable to fill her lungs with air. She couldn't move, she was trapped, imprisoned in a place far too small for her to even stretch out her legs.

She sobbed, and panted, and the darkness shifted. Even as it surrounded her it became cooler, and blacker. It was all around her, closing in, and she had to get out. If only she could unlock the door . . . but she'd dropped the key, and it was cold, so cold.

 _Loghain._   _Oh please!_

If only Loghain would come find her . . .

Her vision cleared, and the barest hint of light was visible: a dim glow of nearly dead coals in the hearth. Gradually, in the soft glow of moonlight that streamed in her window, other things came into view: her armor on its stand; the trunk in the corner; a copy of the Chant of Light on her bedside table.

She released her hold on the bedclothes, and was able to take a proper breath. She wasn't underground; she was in her bedroom in Highever. There was no rock above her, no endless darkness that wanted to consume her. She wasn't buried beneath the earth, nor was she locked away in a damp dungeon cell.

She took a deep breath, and then another, and another, and waited for the terror to subside.

Then, the words the Divine had spoken to her echoed in her mind.

_Surrounding you, so much darkness._

Darkness. She had always hated being in the dark.

It had been a long time since she'd dreamt of being trapped in the darkness, and had to claw her way back to consciousness. Years since she'd woken chilled and sweating, desperate to cry for help, but afraid of what might hear her if she made any sound. She thought she'd left these dreams behind.

Even as she waited for her heart to stop racing, a new fear took hold of her. The fear that this was not merely her old nightmares returning, but something new entirely.

The darkness and the cold were familiar, memories of being locked away in a dungeon cell. But other things were not. The weight of rock above her, and a pulse that beat steadily, like waves that pounded on the shore far away out of sight, or the slow beat of a heart. A scent that stung her nostrils and brought tears to her eyes, like ashes and overripe fruit.

A song, achingly beautiful, until the final notes turned sour.

Finally, a rasping voice, deep and resonant, not heard with her ears, but as if it spoke directly into her head. A voice whose words had been mostly unclear.  _Listen_ , it had said, but then there were only garbled syllables, harsh and hissing, empty of meaning. Nothing she could parse, nothing that sounded like any language she'd ever heard before.

Not until the last. The very last words still rang in her memory.

_Help me._

‹›‹O›‹›


	2. Let us not speak of ominous things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Highever Regulars prepare to march south to Ostagar.

  
_Blessed are they who stand before_  
 _The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter  
_ _Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just_ __  


  
_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow  
_ _In their blood, the Maker's will is written_ __  


\- Benedictions 4:10 & 4:11

__**8 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Highever Castle** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Perched atop the battlements of Highever Castle, Rhianna Cousland leaned back against a wall and allowed her eyes to close against the late morning sun as she listened to the preparations below. Shouted commands, booted feet on cobblestone, metal against metal as swords and shields were drawn and examined and put back again. The jangle of horses' tack and the thump of supplies being loaded onto carts.

The sounds of an army preparing to march off to war.

Later today, as soon as Rendon Howe arrived with his troops from Amaranthine, her father and brother would march out with the Highever Regulars, to join King Cailan and his armies at Ostagar, and fight the darkspawn horde that had massed in Korcari Wilds.

Rhianna, with an ache in her heart, would stay behind.

"I'm sure you'd more than prove yourself," her father had said, "But I am not willing to deal with your mother if you join the war. She's already twisted into knots about Fergus and me going."

It was understandable that Eleanor Cousland would not want her entire family to go into battle, but if only one of the children was to go, it should have been Rhianna. Not only was she was better with a sword than Fergus, but she was expendable. Fergus had a wife and son, and would someday inherit the teyrnir. There wasn't even a plan in place for Rhianna's future, not since her father had rejected Loghain's proposal in favor of an arrangement with King Cailan. An arrangement that had subsequently fallen apart, or so she hoped. As relieved as Rhianna was that she would probably not be forced to marry the king, it did mean she had no idea what she  _would_  do instead. Marry the son of some bann or another, probably. Or perhaps return to Orlais, although that seemed like a very unlikely fantasy.

She had tried to convince her father to let her lead the army south, but he'd refused to consider her arguments. It was difficult not be angry. This was the main reason she had returned from Orlais earlier in the year, when she'd very much wanted to stay. She'd come back to fight the darkspawn, and defend her beloved homeland.

Now she wasn't being allowed to do even that, and she chafed at being left behind with a handful of soldiers to guard a castle that didn't need to be guarded.

So, as everyone else in the castle bustled to make final preparations for the march, Rhianna made herself scarce. No sense being down in the middle of everything, when she was not allowed to be a part of it.

New sounds rang out in the courtyard below: horses' hoof beats, and shouted greetings. Rhianna peered over the crenellated wall. Not far below her, the son of one of the grooms - a blond-haired boy of about eight years old - sat atop one of the buttresses that supported the castle walls. No doubt his mother would have screamed to see him up there, but he looked steady enough where he sat, so Rhianna didn't shout at him to climb down.

In the courtyard, a man dismounted from his horse. The guards who rode with him had the Amaranthine device on their shields, so surely it was Rendon Howe. But there were far too few soldiers. Was he accompanied by only his personal guard? Rhianna peered down the main road that approached from the east, and no soldiers waited there. The armies of Highever and Amaranthine were supposed to march out together today. So where were Howe's troops?

Her curiosity piqued, Rhianna hopped down from the wall and made her way downstairs. In the main courtyard, she spotted the captain of the Highever guard, a tall, solid woman with short, dark red hair, and fair skin with a smattering of freckles.

"Excuse me, Captain."

"Ah, good day, Lady Cousland." Ser Jana had been a member of the Regulars nearly as long as Rhianna could remember, and just last year had been named captain of the castle guard. She would remain here when the army marched out today, a thought Rhianna found comforting. Jana was an accomplished soldier, and a friend.

"Good day to you as well. Have you seen my father?"

"Yes, I believe he's with Arl Howe in the Great Hall."

"Thank you. So Arl Howe  _is_ here. But . . . have the Amaranthine troops arrived?"

She hesitated. "No, ser. They are not here, and I haven't heard any word yet about when they are expected."

"Hmnh." This was odd. "Thank you. I'll go see if I can find out what's happening."

When Rhianna arrived in the great hall, she found her father standing near the fire that blazed in the hearth along the far wall, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared into the flames.

"I trust then that your troops will arrive shortly?"

"I expect they will start arriving tonight," Howe replied, "and we can march tomorrow. I apologize for the delay, my lord." His voice was smooth and apologetic. "This is entirely my fault."

"No, no, Rendon," Bryce turned away from the fire, and waved Howe's words away. "There's no need for apology. The appearance of the darkspawn has us all scrambling, doesn't it? Even though we've known for months to expect this call from the king, it doesn't make it much easier to get everything together when the time comes." He let out a breath. "Well, I suppose I'll send Fergus off on schedule with the Highever troops, so they can get a head start. Then you and I will ride out tomorrow. It'll be just like the old days."

"True," Howe replied. "Though we both had less grey in our hair, then. And we fought Orlesians, not . . . monsters."

"At least the smell will be the same," Bryce chuckled. He noticed Rhianna, and smiled. "There you are, Pup. I'm glad you're here. I need you to take a message to Fergus for me."

"That you want him to march out with the Regulars without you?" she asked.

"You heard? Yes. Rendon's troops have been delayed, but I'm sure this is all for the best. No doubt it will be good for Fergus to get out from under my thumb, and it will give the message that he is the one leading our army, not me."

"That much is true." She hesitated. "But if you're not marching out with him, then I should. Fergus shouldn't have to do this on his own." That was a ridiculous argument; Fergus wouldn't be alone, and he was hardly some untested youth leaving home for the first time. But it was worth a try.

Of course, her father saw through it. "You are nothing if not determined," he chuckled, "but we've been through this before. I need you here." He came close, and put his hands on her shoulders. "This is no needless task, Rhianna. Only a token force will remain here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away. Now," he continued, "as I said, I need you to carry a message to Fergus, but there is someone I'd like you to greet before you go. An unexpected guest arrived a short while ago." He turned to one of the guards. "Will you show him in, please?"

The man saluted and left the hall.

"A guest?"

"You'll see soon enough," he said in response to the question she hadn't quite asked.

While they waited, she turned to the arl. "Hello, Arl Howe. It's good to see you."

"And I'm pleased to see you again, my dear." His tone sounded somewhat less than sincere, but that was hardly a surprise; the arl had never seemed fond of Rhianna.

"I trust the delay with your men is nothing serious?"

"No, of course not. Nothing serious, just poor weather. Their progress has been slow but it's nothing you need worry about."

"Poor weather? I thought you said the delay was your fault."

He gave her a pained smile. "It's just a . . . manner of speaking, my dear. If I had reinforced our border levies earlier, the troops could have left before the rains. I confess, my confidence in your father allowed me some complacency." He chuckled. "I guess that makes it as much his fault as mine. Thomas asked after you," he added before Rhianna could respond. "Perhaps I should bring him with me next time." He turned toward her father. "You know how it is. The young and their infatuations."

"Thomas?" What in the world was he talking about? Infatuations? "Bring him with you? To what end?"

"To what end, she says." Howe chuckled again, although it sounded forced. "And so glib, too. She's just like her mother when she talks like that."

"Thomas and I have never been what you would call friends," Rhianna replied. "I'm quite certain he shares my lack of enthusiasm for a match between us, if that's what you're getting at."

This was something of an understatement; Rhianna was fairly certain neither Thomas nor his father had forgiven her for breaking the boy's nose. Twice. The fact he'd deserved it both times seemed hardly to matter to either of them.

Before Howe could reply, the guard returned, and Rhianna's stomach lurched when she saw the identity of their unexpected guest.

"Rhianna," her father said. "'I'm sure you remember Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden?"

"Of course. Welcome to Highever, ser." She bowed a soldier's greeting, and mustered her friendliest smile to cover up her dismay.

When had he arrived? And why?

He bowed. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Cousland. And an honor to be a guest within your hall."

"Your lordship," Howe said smoothly. "You didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

"Duncan arrived just this morning, unannounced," Bryce replied. "Is there a problem?"

"Of course not. But a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am at a . . . disadvantage."

What was he talking about? Duncan's presence hardly put Howe at a disadvantage. If anyone had reason to worry, it was Rhianna. Duncan had already tried to recruit her into the Wardens once, and just being in the same room with him made her nervous. What if he decided to overrule her refusal, and invoke the Right of Conscription? By law, there was nothing that could stop him from doing that.

What if that was the reason he'd come?

She thought he'd given up on her the month before, when he'd attended the tournament held by her father. Rhianna had made herself as scarce as possible while he was here; the way Duncan looked at her made her nervous. She hadn't even competed in the tournament, for the first time in years. But he'd never sought her out, nor tried to talk to her about the Wardens. Instead, he'd recruited a red-haired knight who was originally from Redcliffe, and left again, and Rhianna assumed that was the end of it.

So why was he here now?

"What brings you to Highever, ser?" Rhianna asked. "I would have thought you and your Wardens would be occupied in the south."

"The Grey Wardens are needed in the south." He calmly met her gaze. "In fact, most of the Fereldan Wardens are already with King Cailan at Ostagar. I am making one final sweep for recruits before joining them. Thus far, I have only found a couple of worthy candidates in my travels, and we desperately need more people. Especially if we hope to stop this Blight before it really begins."

"I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore," her father said.

"Ser Gilmore is fine warrior and a good man," Rhianna commented. "I've no doubt he would be an asset to the Wardens. Should he wish to join."

"Yes, that is what your father said, as well." Duncan paused, but continued to hold Rhianna's gaze. "If I might be so bold, I would suggest yet again that you are also an excellent candidate, my lady."

Her breath caught in her throat, and the knot in her stomach tightened. Did he intend to conscript her? Was that really why he was here?

"Honor though that might be," her father said, as he stepped between Rhianna and the Warden commander, "this is my daughter we're talking about."

Duncan did not even glance at her father, but kept his eyes focused on Rhianna. "Ferelden has never been more in need of Wardens, and good ones." His eyes narrowed. "I intend no flattery when I say you show promise, Lady Cousland. You're a skilled warrior, and you've already fought darkspawn. Admirably. You know better than most what to expect. And your hound would be most welcome among us, as well."

"My answer is the same as the last time we discussed this, ser." Rhianna forced herself to speak calmly. "I have no desire to be a Grey Warden."

"Do you hear that Duncan?" Her father's voice was firm. "My daughter is not interested. So unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription . . ."

"Have no fear," Duncan replied, finally allowing his gaze to shift to Rhianna's father. "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue. I'm content to see what other candidates your castle offers."

What was it Duncan had said the first time she met him? That the Wardens couldn't risk alienating the nobility. That was the reason he hadn't conscripted her then: he feared the repercussions. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that she had said no.

Loghain had told her not to trust him. That still seemed like excellent advice.

"Just how many darkspawn are we talking about, anyway?" Howe asked, and for once - possibly the first time in her life - Rhianna was glad to hear him speak, as it drew Duncan's attention away from her.

"The horde has been assembled in the Korcari Wilds for some time now," Duncan replied. "There are thousands, ten thousand at least in this horde, in addition to smaller groups in other places. Fortunately, King Cailan took us at our word and marshaled Ferelden's forces quickly. The first battles have already been fought, but the rest of Ferelden must join in this effort if we are to defeat the threat before it spreads northward."

"Do you think that will be possible?" Rhianna asked. "To stop the darkspawn before they move farther north?"

"I hope so, milady. The king's armies have had success thus far. I understand the first battles have gone well."

"Indeed." Howe sounded skeptical. "Are the Grey Wardens sure this is even a blight, and not merely some large darkspawn raid?"

"No archdemon has yet been sighted above ground, my lord," Duncan answered, much as he had when Rhianna asked the same question in Orlais. "But with my entire soul, I believe this is a blight."

"I wish we shared your faith," Howe drawled. "I suppose we shall see for ourselves, once we arrive at the king's camp." He paused. "I've heard Cailan is a bit . . . enraptured with the Grey Warden legend, and that is why he caters to your order."

Rhianna felt her eyes grow wide. For a man who had been worried about "protocol" just a few minutes ago, Howe certainly wasn't making any effort to be polite to the Warden commander.

"Howe!" Her father's voice was stern. "That is unworthy of you."

"No, it's all right," Duncan said, with a wave of his hand. "He only repeats what he's heard from others. In any case, whatever the king's reasons, I am grateful for his support. The priority is defeating the darkspawn before they threaten all of Ferelden, and King Cailan had stepped up to the challenge admirably."

"Speaking of which," Bryce interjected, "we have some things to discuss before the Highever forces march out today. Pup, will you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

"Of course," she replied.

As long as Duncan doesn't request, for the third time, that she join the Maker-damned Wardens.

"Good. Now, go tell Fergus that I want him to leave today."

"All right," Rhianna agreed. "Do you know where Fergus is?"

"Upstairs in his chambers, no doubt, spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson."

She turned to Duncan. "I'm sure I'll see you soon, ser. In the meantime if there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask anyone in the castle to find me."

As it would have been rude to ignore Howe completely, she turned to him as well. "The same is true for you, ser. If there is anything you need during your stay tonight, I'll be more than happy to see to it."

"I . . . I thank you." Howe sounded surprised, almost discomfited by her words. "That is quite . . . unnecessary."

"Nonetheless. Just let me know if there is anything you need."

Rhianna headed toward the family's quarters, a slight frown on her face. Something felt wrong about this. Howe's soldiers were delayed, and now Fergus would march out on his own? She really did wish she were going with him, and not just for her own sake. Not that she worried about her brother's competence, and surely he'd be safe - he would be traveling with the bulk of the Highland Regulars, after all.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she ought to be going with him.

Or perhaps it was just that she felt restless about remaining behind. She wasn't worried at all about managing the teyrnir; she knew the people here, and knew how things were supposed to work. Short of them being attacked - by Orlais or the Qunari or darkspawn - things would go smoothly.

Of course, no attack was going to happen. Which is why her mother should stay here and manage Highever, while Rhianna went south to fight the darkspawn. Staying here, watching over a peaceful teyrnir while a war was being fought in the south, was a waste of Rhianna's fighting skills.

Clearly, however, her parents did not agree, and in this Rhianna had no choice but to comply.

Fergus was easily located, in the room he shared with Oriana and Oren. Oriana's eyes were bloodshot and slightly puffy, but Oren was practically bouncing at the prospect of his father going off on a grand adventure.

"Is there really going to be a war, Papa? Will you bring me back a sword?"

"Yes," Fergus chuckled, "I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. And I'll be back before you know it."

"I wish victory was indeed so certain," Oriana said. "My heart is disquiet."

"Now, now, my love. There's no need to be so grim. You'll frighten the boy." Fergus turned at Rhianna's approach. "And here's my little sister to see me off. I wish you were coming with us, Elsie. It'd be fun fighting side by side for once."

"Believe me," Rhianna said. "I wish I were coming, too. But Father seems to think I'm needed here in the castle. Speaking of which, he sent me to tell you that you're to leave this afternoon. Without him and Arl Howe."

"What's this?" Fergus asked. "Then the arl's men  _are_  delayed." He scoffed. "You'd think they were all walking backwards."

"Mama says you're going to watch over us while Papa is gone," Oren said. "Is that true, Auntie?"

"Yes, Pumpkin." Rhianna crouched down to look into her nephew's eyes. "It is indeed. So you and I are going to have some grand adventures together while your papa and mine are away."

"Perhaps dragons will attack the castle! That would be an adventure!"

"Dragons?" Rhianna laughed. 

"Dragons are terrible creatures," Oriana said with a slight frown. "They eat people."

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "I want to see one!"

"Well," Rhianna began, "that would indeed be an adventure, but that's not exactly the sort of thing I had in mind. I thought we would take Dane into the woods and try to find interesting things. Maybe some squirrels, or birds we haven't seen before. Or snakes. You never know what we might find in the forest."

"That sounds like fun, too," he agreed. "Can we also do sword practice? I'm old enough to use a real one now, not just the wooden one King Cailan gave me. Will you teach me? Please? Then I can fight evil, too! Take  _that_ , dire bunny!" he cried, as he pretended to stab at something in front of him. "All darkspawn fear my sword of truthiness!"

"Sword of truthiness?" Rhianna lifted a brow, and glanced at Oriana and Fergus.

"We've been teaching him about honesty," Oriana said simply.

"Well, if we can get your mama to agree," Rhianna said, deliberately not making eye contact with Oriana, "I promise we'll start working with a real sword very soon. In fact, I have a feeling you're big enough now to wear the armor Teyrn Loghain had made for me when I was eight."

"Fergus," Oriana lamented, "there are times your family causes me great pain."

"Now, mind your mother, Oren," he chided as he scruffed the boy's hair. "And don't worry, son. You'll get to see a sword up close real soon. I promise." He paused. "I suppose I should get going, then, if we're to make it to the Imperial Highway before nightfall."

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to at least say goodbye before taking your leave?" The younger Couslands all turned toward the door, to see Bryce and Eleanor enter.

"Father," Rhianna chided jokingly. "What are you doing here? You could have delivered the message to Fergus yourself."

"And miss having both my children in one place before I leave? Not likely," he chuckled, and the family drew close for hugs and final good wishes.

‹›‹O›‹›

After the goodbyes to Fergus were made, and he left the castle at the head of the Highever Regulars, Rhianna wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. She stopped in the chapel to say a prayer with Mother Mallol, and then played a few hands of Ruff and Honors with the guards stationed outside of the treasury room. After they'd soundly trounced her (she'd never been particularly good with card games), she visited the library, and talked with Brother Aldous, her old tutor, and a couple of cheeky young squires.

When she left the library, a red-haired knight approached. "My lady! There you are."

"Hello, Ser Gilmore. You've been looking for me?"

"Your mother sent me to find you," he replied in his usual gentle demeanor. "I'm afraid there is a bit of a situation . . . with your hound. Nan's threatening to quit."

"Nan is threatening to quit? What's this, the third time this week? You know as well as I do she won't really leave. She just likes to yell about things when she starts feeling overwhelmed. But . . . since you've come looking for me, I suppose this means Dane's gotten into the larder again?"

"Yes, milady. No matter how the servants try and keep him out, he always finds a way in, and Nan is convinced he's trying to steal the roast she intended for tonight's dinner. And no one else will dare go near him. He'll listen to you, but anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

Rhianna lifted a brow. "Dane would never hurt anyone without good reason. But," she said, before Ser Gilmore could protest, "I will go and see what he's up to in there."

"My lady . . . before we go, might I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"I've heard from several people that a Grey Warden is here. And that perhaps he asked after me?"

"Are you hoping for it to be true? You sound somewhat excited."

"Awed, more like. The reputation of the Grey Wardens is unsurpassed. To become a Grey Warden would be . . . everything I ever dreamed of!"

"Everything? Your life here in Highever isn't satisfactory?" When the smile started to slip from his face, as though he feared he had truly offended her, she added, "I find it difficult to believe that anything could be more rewarding than continually chasing my dog out of the larder." She winked at him, and his smile returned. "At any rate, it is true. A Grey Warden is here: Duncan, the head of the order in Ferelden." She paused. "And he did say that he's considering you for recruitment."

"Maker's breath!" His eyes grew wide. "Can you imagine? Me, a Grey Warden? Of course, I shouldn't get ahead of myself."

"Ser Gilmore," she said, "I can't think of anyone more worthy of such an honor than you." Regardless of any doubts Rhianna had about the order, this clearly meant a lot to him; for his sake, she hoped Duncan would recruit him. "Of course that means you'll have to leave Highever. I'll miss you, you know."

Color bloomed on his cheeks. "Oh, my lady, that's very kind of you. I know it's not true, but it's kind of you to say all the same." Before she could respond, he continued, "We really should see to your dog. Shall I come with you to the kitchens?"

It turned out that Dane's interest in the larder wasn't thievery at all, but that he was on the trail of rats. A number of very large rats that Dane was in the process of dispatching when Rhianna and Ser Gilmore arrived. Afterwards, Nan continued to grumble - "I'll bet that bloody hound let those rats in there to begin with" - but then she gave him a handful of pork bits, a sure sign she wasn't truly angry.

With Dane at her side, Rhianna spoke for a few minutes with her mother, and some guests from River Dane: Lady Landra Blaydon and her son Dairren, along with Landra's elven lady-in-waiting. Landra seemed unusually sober for this late in the day, but even so, she commented about Rhianna's lack of a husband, and - not for the first time - offered an unsubtle reminder that Dairren was still unwed. He was a nice man, and handsome enough, but Rhianna had absolutely no romantic interest in him. So, she wrapped up the conversation as politely as possible, and went in search of something else to do.

This proved to be a challenge. It was as though Fergus' departure had sucked the life out of the castle. With only a handful of guards left behind, the hallways and courtyards were quieter than usual. Oriana and Oren were nowhere to be seen; they were probably in their quarters. Sometimes, Rhianna liked to spend her afternoons in the kitchen, listening to Nan tell stories, but the cook had seemed so flustered earlier, Rhianna didn't want to bother her. When Rhianna passed by the library, thinking to spend a bit more time there, she spotted Duncan browsing books along the back wall. It seemed a good idea to avoid the Warden commander as much as possible, so Rhianna had changed course once again. She didn't feel like weapons practice, and with guests in the castle, she couldn't exactly saddle up Faolan and go for a ride.

In the end, she decided to go up to her room and read a book, or perhaps even take a nap. She was tired, something that had become a pattern of late. Her sleep had been disturbed, more often than usual, by bad dreams. The sort of dreams she hadn't had in several years - dreams of being locked away in the dark, her childhood fear returning to plague her. And at least once, she'd dreamt of a dragon. An enormous dragon, and she had the impression it had tried to talk to her, but she couldn't remember what it said. Either way, some nights she woke up in a panic from her dreams, and in the morning felt hardly rested at all.

She'd try reading, though. If she napped now, she might sleep straight through dinner, and wake up disoriented in the middle of the night. She ran her fingers along the spines of the book on the shelf that held her favorites, hoping one would grab her attention. Some of her trinkets caught her eye: the carved wolf figurine she'd had for years, and the small statue of Andraste she'd bought a few months ago in Val Royeaux. The statue brought a smile to her face, but at the same time, she really didn't want to start thinking about her visit to Orlais, or about Gauvain, whom she had left behind.

A knock sounded on the door, and banished all other thoughts from her mind.

She answered it to find her father standing in the hall. "May I come in, Pup? There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"Of course." She stepped aside, and they sat together at the little table beside her bed. His eyes studied her face as a vague smile played at the corner of his mouth.

What was this about? Even with the smile, something about his expression looked . . . serious. Surely, he didn't have bad news, but whatever he wanted to say seemed not to come easily.

"Father? Is everything all right?"

He chuckled. "Yes. Of course. I . . . I just want you to know how very grateful I am for the past few months. That you and I managed to get back to . . . well, that we were able to get through the challenges of the past year. I know it was difficult for you, and I understand just how much you gave up to be a good daughter. A good Fereldan. You could have run off with Loghain. You could have stayed in Orlais. But you didn't."

"Oh." She felt heat behind her eyes, and willed any tears to be gone. "Thank you. I'm grateful, too." She didn't know what else to say, so she fell silent and waited for him to continue.

"Your mother and I have been talking. Really, we've been thinking about this for a long time, but I was never sure it was for the best. Not until now."

"I don't understand. What's for the best?"

A finger of cold trickled down her spine. It sounded as though her parents had made some big decision about her life. Oh Maker. What if it was about Cailan? Perhaps he still wanted to marry her. Or perhaps Cailan had written that he was no longer interested in marrying Rhianna at all, and her parents had decided on some other husband for her. Were they going to ask her to marry Thomas Howe? Or perhaps they wanted her to join the Grey Wardens. What if Duncan had said something that made them change their minds? Her stomach felt hollow and she struggled to keep the fear from showing on her face.

_Please, Andraste. Don't let it be something horrible. Please._

"It's about the teyrnir," her father replied. "I have decided to name you my heir, instead of Fergus. After I am . . . gone, you will be Teyrna of Highever."

"What?" Rhianna wasn't certain she'd heard him correctly. Her eyes grew wide, and for a moment, she couldn't take a breath. "I'm . . . I'm to inherit Highever?"

"Yes. Not for a great many years, I hope," he chuckled, "and there are still a few things to sort out before we make any official announcement. I need to speak with Fergus, and of course, the situation with Cailan needs to be settled. But this is what I want, for you and for the Coastlands. I trust you completely to carry on the Cousland name if the worst should happen while your brother and I are in the south. And I truly believe no one else could run this teyrnir better than you, after I am gone."

Maker's breath.

Her fear rushed away, replaced by . . . well, a lot of feelings. Excitement, yes. And joy. And pride. She would be Teyrna of Highever someday? Never again would she have to worry about her future. About where she would go, who she would marry. She could choose whomever she liked, or choose not to marry anyone at all.

And she loved this place, these people, and would care for them to the best of her ability, always.

"Say something, Pup. I trust this news pleases you?"

"Oh." She laughed. "Oh yes, Father. Yes. Of course. It pleases me very much. Thank you. I'm not really sure what to say, other than thank you." She paused. "But what about Fergus? I don't want him to be upset."

"Don't worry about Fergus. I'll talk to him when we get to Ostagar, after I've settled things with Cailan. If it's anything like the Rebellion, we'll have plenty of time between battles with nothing at all to do except sit and wait for the next attack. And to be honest I don't believe he'll be anything but happy. He never really wanted the teyrnir, - you know that as well as I do - and this will free him to do something else with his life. So, don't worry about your brother, Pup."

"And you're going to talk to Cailan?"

"Yes." He paused. "I intend to tell him that the arrangement between the two of you is no longer an option."

"What about Celene? Are you going to tell him you know he intends to marry her?"

"Yes. I think it would be a good idea to get everything out in the open. Tell him his plan to marry the empress is not feasible, and that the Landsmeet will never allow it. Ideally, I can convince him not to set Anora aside at all."

"And if he says he still wants to marry me?"

He hesitated. "I will tell him that's not going to happen. That you're going to inherit Highever instead. That's what would make you happiest, is it not? Rather than being forced to marry Cailan?"

She let out a relieved breath. "Yes. It is. Thank you." She laughed happily. "Thank you."

This was truly the best thing that had happened in months.

"For what it's worth," he began, "I do believe you will rule this teyrnir as well as anyone ever has, and you've earned the right to it, through your hard work over the years. I also know you've given up a great deal, and set aside your own desires more than once over the past year, in ways that were . . . painful for you. And in part, this is my way of apologizing. For turning Loghain away, and promising your hand to Cailan without speaking with you about it first. I hope ruling the teyrnir will make you happy, and that you'll find it fulfilling, as I have. What I'm trying to say is . . . I'm sorry. For all the things I did wrong this past year."

It was on the tip of her tongue to reassure him, to say it was all right. To tell him it no longer mattered.

But in truth, it wasn't all right, and it did matter. As happy as this news made her, she still ached for things that happened over the past year. She still missed Loghain every single day, and she yearned to be back in Orlais with Gauvain.

She did appreciate what her father was doing, though - naming her his heir, as well as offering an apology. So, while she wouldn't tell him what he did was all right, she wouldn't berate him about it, either.

"Thank you," she said. "Apology accepted. I appreciate this. All of it. And you know I will always do my best for the people of Highever."

"Yes, I do know that." A warm smile spread across his face. "And now, you understand why it's so important that you stay here, rather than coming south with us. Not only will this give you good experience running things on your own, but I can't risk something happening to you, not when you are so important to the future of the teyrnir. I know you'll do me proud. You've grown into a sensible young woman, that much is clear."

"Thank you," she said again.

"Well," he said as he pushed himself up from the chair. "I have a big day ahead tomorrow, riding out alongside Rendon." One corner of his mouth turned down, as though something dark had invaded his mood.

"Is something worrying you? More than the fact you're marching to war, I mean?"

He shook his head in denial, but the smile he wore didn't reach his eyes. "No, not really. I just . . . well, I'm sure you won't see any problems while we're gone. But, I want you to prepare the men who stay here." He paused. "Just in case."

"In case of what?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"You've seen for yourself what the darkspawn are capable of, and legends of the blights tell of horrible things. If our armies can't hold them at Ostagar, you must be prepared for the worst. Prepared to be the last line of defense for the people of the Coastlands."

"Are you sure it was a good idea to send so many soldiers with Fergus? Perhaps we should have held more back to defend the castle, if needed?"

"No. The troops are needed in the south. Whatever threats I've devised in my mind are imaginary for the time being; the darkspawn in the south are real. Besides, when the king demands it,  _not_  sending the whole of our forces south would be a distinctly bad idea."

"In case he gets the idea that you're up to something? Perhaps because of this plan he has of marrying Celene?"

"Yes. Exactly. But you don't need to worry about any of that. You'll have enough to occupy your mind while I'm gone." He smiled. "Now, let us not speak of ominous things. Instead, we shall assume that all will go well and trust that the Maker will watch over us." When Rhianna stood, he pulled her into a warm embrace. "I'll see you at dinner."

"All right."

He pulled away, and then cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. "You're my darling daughter, Rhianna. And I love you."

"I love you, too, Father." She kissed his cheek. "So very much."

When she closed the door behind him, tears welled up in her eyes, although she wasn't entirely sure why.

No longer in the mood for a nap, she pulled a volume of Antivan fairy tales from the shelf, and settled herself near the fire.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and to my lovely reviewers: Irish_Changeling, Vicky79, KatDancer, DarkspawnHorror, Fluttermoth, wendolen, Riptide, and RogueHarper.
> 
> A note about canon and timelines: As you probably noticed, I switched around some of the events in this chapter from the way they occur in the game. It makes no sense to me that Fergus would march away with the army at dusk (or late enough, anyway, that her father would suggest Rhianna should go straight to bed). They would not be able to make any reasonable progress by nightfall. So, I've juggled the timeline a bit, and this will definitely not be the last time I make such an adjustment. While this story will follow the major events and possible outcomes as they play out in the game, I will not always stick religiously to the smaller details in canon.


	3. To ask something in return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna wakes in the middle of the night to find Highever Castle under attack.

__**9 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Highever Castle** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna's eyes flew open and she sat up in bed. It was still dark outside; not even a hint of dawn shone through her window, but something had pulled her out of her slumber, and this time, she felt certain it hadn't been a dream.

Dane stood at the bedroom door, ears at attention, but she could hear nothing out in the hallway.

"Dane? What it is boy?"

He huffed softly; he'd heard noises that didn't belong.

Now, she heard something, too. Shouts, and the clang of meal against stone. A muffled scream, cut short.

Dane crouched, his teeth bared, and a rumbling growl came from deep in his chest.

What in the Maker's name was going on?

Rhianna climbed out of bed, but before she could reach the door, it burst open.

One of the servants stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with terror. "The castle! It's under attack, my lady! Please! Save us!"

As Rhianna rushed toward him, his body jerked and shuddered. Something warm and wet spattered across her face as he fell backward into the hall.

She reached up and touched her cheek; when she pulled her hand away, there was a dark stain on her fingers.

Blood.

A soft whisper cut through the air, and something hit her, hard, and knocked her back. As she stumbled and fell onto the bed, pain exploded in her belly. She glanced down; an arrow had pierced her right side, just below her rib cage.

It hurt. Oh Maker _,_  it  _hurt_!

Holding her breath, she gritted her teeth against the pain and pushed herself up off the bed. She threw herself against the bedroom door, slammed it shut, and turned the key in the lock.

Maker's balls. What was happening? Was the castle under attack?

It must be, but by whom, and why? Was it the darkspawn, or Orlesians? And how in the world had they gotten past the guard?

She shook her head, to clear it. None of those things mattered. Her family: her parents, and Oriana and Oren – finding them was the only thing that mattered. First, she needed armor and weapons.

Dreading what she needed to do, she grasped the shaft of the arrow. Again she held her breath and clenched her jaw, and yanked the arrow from her body. A flash of white obscured her vision as bolts of pain shot through her, bright and hot. Feeling faint, she struggled to keep herself upright while she pressed a hand against the wound, hoping to staunch the flow of blood that had already soaked her nightgown.

_Thump._

A violent noise at her bedroom door; most likely a booted foot of one of the attackers trying to get in.

She didn't have much time.

Awkwardly, whimpering from the pain that made her want to scream, she used one arm to tug the nightgown over her head. Then she wrapped it around her waist, using it as a makeshift bandage.

_Thump._

She climbed into her well-worn leathers, and strapped the cuirass as tightly as possible.

_Thump._

Hopefully, the pressure would keep her from bleeding to death before she could find help. The pain she could bear; she'd fought often enough with gashes and broken bones while training with Loghain. But never before had she fought with a wound that bled this heavily.

_Thump._

After shoving her feet into her boots, she grabbed her longsword and the red steel dagger Loghain had given her all those years ago. As she turned to face the door, it burst open. A soldier charged at her, his sword held high.

All thoughts fled her mind as she easily parried the man's attack. When the blow landed unexpectedly off-target, he stumbled, and his eyes widened in surprise.

Rhianna nearly laughed aloud; apparently, he'd thought attacking a young lady in her bedroom in the middle of the night was a simple task. He wouldn't live long enough to fully understand just how wrong he had been about that.

Before the man could recover, Dane rushed forward and sank his teeth into the back of a thigh. An agonized scream cut through the air until it was cut off abruptly when Rhianna slit the man's throat with her sword.

As he slumped to the floor, she kicked at the dying man with the toe of her boot.

_Maker's balls_.

His shield bore Arl Howe's device.

Arl Howe? Was it possible Howe's men had attacked the castle? That made no sense . . .

Noise in the hallway caught her attention, and she sprinted toward an archer who stood just outside the door to Fergus and Oriana's room, probably the same archer who had shot her a few minutes earlier. Dane quickly outdistanced Rhianna; the archer's throat was torn out before Rhianna could land a blow.

To her left, she turned to see two swordsmen rush toward her. Between Dane's teeth and Rhianna's sword, it was a matter of very few minutes before the soldiers lie on the floor, their own blood pooling beneath them.

Like the man in her bedroom and the archer, both of these soldiers wore Amaranthine regalia.

Maker's  _balls_. They really were Howe's men.

She thought she heard shouts in the distance, but no more soldiers appeared. She pounded on her parent's door.

"Mother! Father! Are you inside?"

Wood scraped against stone, and the door flew open.

"Rhianna! Thank the Maker." Eleanor Cousland wore leather armor and carried a sword, deep lines etched in her brow. "I heard fighting outside, and I feared the worst." Eleanor's eyes grew wide at the sight of blood on her daughter's armor. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." It wasn't really a lie. Rhianna wasn't in much pain at the moment; a rush of adrenaline had flooded her system, fueled by the fighting and by her rage. "What in the name of the Black City is happening?"

"I don't know. A scream woke me. There were men in the hall, so I barred the door. Did you see their shields? Those are Howe's men. That miserable bastard."

"You don't suppose his troops were delayed on purpose? Do you think he planned this, in advance?"

"He must have." Her mother's eyes flashed. "I'll slit his lying throat myself." She clutched Rhianna's arm. "We have to find your father. He never came to bed last night. You don't suppose-"

"Father's fine," Rhianna said firmly. "He knows how to take care of himself. We just have to find him. Together." Her stomach lurched as she remembered the archer who'd stood in the hall, just outside the room her brother shared with his family. "But first, we've got to make sure Oriana and Oren are all right."

_Oh, please,_  she prayed, as she hurried across the hall,  _Blessed Andraste, please. Please let them be safe._

She stopped in the threshold, her feet unwilling to take her any farther forward when she saw the carnage inside.

Oren and Oriana lay side by side in the middle of the room, flat on their backs, blood soaking the carpet beneath them. Oriana's throat had been slit, and Oren's belly run through with a sword.

"Maker, no!" Rhianna sobbed, and stumbled backward.

She turned, and grabbed at her mother's shoulders, wanting to keep her from entering the room.

But it was too late; Eleanor had already seen the bodies lying on the floor.

"No!" she screamed, and rushed forward to drop to her knees beside her grandson. "My little Oren? Oh, Blessed Andraste, no!" She turned to Rhianna, eyes bright with unshed tears. "What sort of monster would do a thing like this? I can't . . . oh, poor Fergus." She covered her face in her hands. "I can't see this. I can't see this anymore."

With tears clouding her vision, Rhianna urged her mother to her feet, and clung to her shoulder.

"I don't understand," Rhianna sobbed. "Why would he do this? Why would Howe betray us? He's not even taking hostages?"

"He intends to kill us all. That bastard," Eleanor snarled. "After all Bryce has done for him over the years. This is how he repays us?"

"But I don't see how he thinks he will ever get away with something like this."

"If he kills all of us, he  _can_  get away with it," Eleanor replied. "He can say anything he likes. That we were attacked by Orlesians, or . . . well, I don't know. But that must be why he's not taking hostages. He really plans to kill us all."

"He won't succeed in that. He  _won't_."

"No," her mother agreed. "He won't." Eleanor's eyes were hard and dark. "I'm no Orlesian wallflower to faint away in the face of danger. Let's cut our way through these bastards and find your father, and get to safety."

Rhianna glanced back at Oriana and Oren. If felt wrong to just leave them there, to turn her back on them, but what else was there to do? It was too late to do anything to help them.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, taking a last look at her nephew as tears slid down her cheeks. Then her mother pulled her toward the door that led away from the family's quarters.

In the hallway beyond, they encountered more guards. Rhianna attacked with no hesitation, controlling her rage just enough to make her more dangerous than she'd ever been before. She slashed with her sword and her dagger, she stepped lightly, and struck with deadly precision, and in a matter of minutes, no soldiers were left standing.

As they reached the small landing between the family's quarters and the main part of the castle, a tall woman ran toward them, her sword unsheathed and bloody.

"Thank the Maker you're both unharmed!"

"Ser Jana," Eleanor said, "have you seen Bryce?"

"No, Your Grace, I haven't. I came straight here as soon as I heard the sounds of fighting. Arl Howe's men have attacked. It started with the guards he brought with him yesterday, but more soldiers have arrived, and they're trying to get through the main gates. The castle will be overrun any minute now. We have to get you and Lady Rhianna to safety."

"First, we must find my husband," Eleanor insisted.

"We will, Your Grace," the guard captain reassured. "Together."

The three women and the hound turned to the right, and looked for Bryce in the library, but all they found there were heaps of rubble where shelves had been knocked over and pottery destroyed. When they tried to make it through to the main gates, they found the way blocked by a pile of broken furniture that had been set alight.

"Damn it!" Eleanor cursed. "We'll have to go around. But first . . ." She took Rhianna's hand, and pulled her down the corridor that led to the castle treasury. "I'll be damned if Rendon Howe will get his hands on the Cousland sword." She grasped the chain that hung around her neck, and pulled it over her head. "Here." She handed it to Rhianna. "This is the key to the treasury. Let's get what we can, quickly."

Rhianna had not been inside the treasury in years, not since she had asked her father to show it to her when she was small. Now, her hand shook as she tried to get the key into the lock, but she forced herself to take a breath, and go slowly, and finally the key slid home. Ser Jana and Dane stood watch at the door while Rhianna and her mother entered the vault.

Certain that they only had minutes, at best, before more of Howe's men appeared, Rhianna's eyes searched for the items she wanted. The shield that had belonged to Sarim Cousland, the first item ever painted with the laurel crest that was the Cousland family's device. The Cousland sword, that Haelia wielded against the werewolves. The same sword Rhianna had carried during the reenactment at the Festival of Wolves. The sword Loghain used to defend them both during the attack that night.

Loghain.

If only he were here. Rhianna was flooded with an ache that brought tears to her eyes. If Loghain were here, he would fight at their sides, and no one could possibly defeat them. If only he were here, he would save her. He would save them all.

But Loghain wasn't here, and Rhianna would have to save herself, and the rest of her family as well.

Except it was already too late for that. Again, the memory of Oriana and Oren, lifeless on the floor, caused tears to well up in her eyes.

With a shake of her head, Rhianna forced herself to keep moving. There was no time to grieve; that would have to wait until after they'd found Father and taken care of Howe.

Even though she was strong enough now to wield the family sword, she strapped the heirloom to her back; she preferred the familiar weight of her own longsword in her hand. She grabbed several small bags with gemstones and jewelry, and surveyed the rest of the room. Paintings would have to be left behind, as would the ceremonial armor; it was too heavy for her to carry. She considered changing into it, and leaving her leathers, which were hardly exceptional. But she wasn't used to wearing plate mail, and feared it would slow her down, so the ceremonial armor stayed behind.

In just a few minutes, the three women and Dane were back out in the hallways. They turned a corner and found themselves face to face with another knot of soldiers.

"That's the teyrna, and the teyrn's daughter!" one of them shouted. "Remember what the Arl said. Kill everyone else, but he wants the Cousland girl alive. We'll get paid more for her if she's still kicking."

Regardless of what the Arl wanted, it would not be the destiny of these particular soldiers to fulfill his wishes. With Dane at their side, Eleanor, Rhianna and Jana had little trouble with any of the soldiers who attacked them.

They fought their way back to the main hallway, but once again found the way to the front courtyard blocked.

"We'll go through the Great Hall," Eleanor suggested, and they pushed open the heavy wooden doors.

Inside, the room was in chaos, as Highever guards battled against Howe's men. A crackle of lightning lit the far end of the hall: a mage. Rhianna sprinted across the hall and charged the woman, ready to swing sword and dagger at the same time. Before Rhianna could land her attack, the woman fired off a spell, and Rhianna was hit with a wave of cold that knocked her onto her back. The pain from the blast, combined with the wound in her side - which was beginning to throb painfully - made it difficult for her to stand. But when a blast of fire from the end of the mage's staff flew toward her, Rhianna rolled out of the way and used the momentum to jump back up on her feet. With a shout, she put her sword through the mage's belly, and yanked upward, certain that when the woman fell, she wouldn't get back up again.

Rhianna whirled around and engaged another of Howe's soldiers, and for a few minutes, everything was a blur of steel and leather and wood. The smell of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air, as grunts and screams and the deafening nose of clashing blades echoed off the walls.

Finally, though, only those loyal to Highever remained standing.

A man rushed across the room, and grabbed Rhianna by the shoulders.

"My lady! Thank the Maker!" Ser Gilmore's face was streaked with blood, as was his armor, but he looked to be uninjured. "By the time I realized Howe's men were attacking, it was all I could do to close the gates before they got inside." Ser Gilmore gestured to the far end of the the room, where several castle guards pushed against the large wooden doors, keeping them closed against the horde of soldiers trying to break in.

"They did get inside," Rhianna said. "Mother and I were awoken by soldiers in the family's quarters. Have you seen my father?"

"Last time I saw the teyrn, he was with that Grey Warden. They were looking for you. I think they were headed toward the kitchen, hoping you would go there to use the servants' entrance."

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore." Eleanor's breath came quickly, as blood dripped from the sword in her hand.

"Go, Your Ladyship. Get out of here now, while you still have the chance. We won't be able to hold these doors much longer."

"Come with us," Rhianna begged, and grabbed him by the wrist.

He pulled away. "No. I'll stay here and give you time to escape."

Rhianna hesitated, but Eleanor grasped her arm, and began to pull her toward the door. "He's right, Rhianna. We've got to find your father, and get you out of this castle. Maker watch over you, Ser Gilmore," she said.

"Maker watch over us all. He turned and strode toward the barricaded door.

"I'll stay here as well," Ser Jana said. "To help reinforce the main gates. Go on without me."

"Maker be with you," Rhianna said, and then, with her mother's insistent hand on her arm, they turned and left through the north door.

They found more of Howe's soldiers in the corridor, but had little trouble defeating them. Rhianna had never seen her mother wield a sword before; the woman had a strong arm. No Orlesian wallflower, indeed.

In the kitchen, Cath and Adney - the two elven servants - lie dead on the floor. What about Nan? There was no sign of the older woman; perhaps she'd managed to hide somewhere safe.

What if Howe's men had already found her father? It might already be too late.

Rhianna hurried into the larder where the servant's entrance was located, with her mother close behind. She saw nothing at first, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, but a soft groan in the far corner caught her attention.

"Father!"

"There you are," he gasped. "I had begun to think you were never coming." He lay in a dark patch on the floor and clutched at his side. As Rhianna drew near, she saw that the dark stain beneath him was blood.

"Bryce!" Eleanor raced to his side and dropped to her knees to support him in her arms. "What happened? You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men . . . got to me first." Bryce coughed, and moaned softly as his fingers pressed against the wound in his side. "They nearly did me in."

Oh, Maker, there was so much blood . . .

How would they get him to safety in time?

"But why?" Rhianna's voice was desperate. "Why would Howe do this to us? To you?"

"I've been a fool," Bryce breathed. "All this time, Howe was jealous of me. He felt Maric . . . never gave him his due for what he did during the Rebellion. He thinks he'll use the chaos of the darkspawn attack to draw attention from himself for what he's done here. To advance himself somehow with the king." He clutched at Rhianna's hand. "You've got to get out of here, Pup. You've got to warn your brother, before Howe gets to him, too."

"We'll all go." Rhianna squeezed his hand. "The three of us. You, and Mother and I. The servant's entrance is just there. Come on, let me help you up."

"I won't . . . survive the standing," he said with a shake of his head.

"She's right Bryce," Eleanor pleaded. "We can get you out of here, find you healing magic."

"It's too late for that, my love."

Rhianna felt tears come, but she blinked them back.

"I'm afraid your father is right."

At the sound of a man's voice behind her, Rhianna was on her feet. Sword drawn, she dropped into a fighting stance, ready to defend her parents. Dane crouched at her side, and growled an unmistakable warning.

It was Duncan. He stopped walking, and with slow movements, slid his sword into the sheath on his back, then held his hands out, palms forward, in front of him.

"I mean no harm, Lady Cousland, to you or your parents."

With an exhalation of breath, Rhianna relaxed her stance and nodded, gesturing that he could move past. He knelt beside her mother, and Rhianna returned to her father's side.

"Duncan." Bryce's voice was weaker now. "Take my wife and my daughter to safety. I beg of you."

"I will," Duncan replied. "But I am going to have to ask something in return. I came here looking for a recruit, and I cannot leave without one. The evil that Howe has committed here tonight pales in comparison to the threat the darkspawn pose. And only Grey Wardens can stop a blight once it has begun. Do you understand what I am asking?"

"I . . . understand," Bryce groaned. "Please, just make sure my daughter lives."

Maker's blood. They were talking about . . .

"No!" Rhianna shouted. "I won't. I won't leave you!"

"Pup, you  _must_  do this." Bryce put his hand on her arm. "You must not die here tonight. If you don't get out of the castle, who will warn Fergus? Who will make certain Howe is brought to justice? You've got to go to king, tell him what happened here. Cailan will listen to you. And then you must do what Duncan asks of you. We Couslands always do our duty. You know that."

"My duty? My duty is to you and Mother. To Highever. Not to the Grey Wardens. I've done everything you've ever asked of me. Please don't ask this. I don't want to leave, and I don't want to be a Warden." She turned her back to Duncan, and spoke more quietly, although not so low that the Warden commander couldn't hear. "Loghain says they're not to be trusted."

Duncan put a hand on her shoulder, and she had to force herself not to flinch away. "The Grey Wardens are the only ones who can save Ferelden from this Blight. And we can't do it without people like you."

Now she did pull away from his hand. "And you'll blackmail a dying man just to recruit me?"

"Rhianna!" Her father's voice was sharp.

"No!" she shouted. "I'm going to stay here and fight. And then we'll get you out of here. Like Mother said, find healing magic. There has to be a way. We can't let Howe get away with this!"

"That's why you must survive," Bryce murmured. "So Howe doesn't get away with this. Take her, Duncan. Take her and Eleanor, and go."

"I'm not going anywhere," Eleanor said firmly. "My place is here with you, my love. At your side. And I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy our daughter time to get away." Eleanor wrapped her arms more tightly around her husband. "We had a good life, my love. And now it's up to our children to carry on."

"No!" Rhianna sobbed. "Mother! You've got to come with us. Please. We'll all go together. To safety! All of us. Please." A tear crawled down her cheek.

"Rhianna, my brave girl." Her mother's eyes shone with tears. "My only grandchild is a ravaged corpse. What do I care for my safety? Go with Duncan. Please."

"No, I won't. I won't go." Another tear. "I'm staying here, with you."

"To do what?" Her mother's voice was ragged. "To die? Your father is right, darling. You have to get out of here. Find your brother. Make sure that Howe pays for what he's done to us."

In the distance, a deafening crash echoed through the halls.

Duncan put his hand on Rhianna's arm. "We must go. Now. We don't have much time."

Rhianna pulled her arm away and shook her head. "No. I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Pup." Her father's voice was ragged. "You disappoint me, Pup. Won't you do this one . . . last thing for me?"

"How can you ask this of me?" Tears began to stream down her face and she clutched her father's hand. "I don't want to leave you. I can't leave you. I can't," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry, my lady, but you leave me no choice," Duncan said. "According to ancient law, on behalf of the Grey Wardens, I hereby invoke the right of conscription upon Rhianna Cousland."

Shouting could be heard now, as it echoed ever closer through the stone corridors of the castle.

"No!" As Rhianna turned away from Duncan, something hit the back of her head. There was a flash of light, a brief moment of intense pain, and then . . . nothing.

‹›‹O›‹›

When Rhianna awoke, she was on the ground, in what felt like grass, and everything was dark except a light that flickered in the distance through the trees.

Trees . . . if there were trees, then she must be outdoors, out in the woods.

She shifted her limbs, preparing to sit up, and her head throbbed, an ache as bad as any she could ever remember, as bad as it had hurt when she'd had the plague all those years ago. Even worse was an agonizing pain that exploded in her side, and made her want to scream.

Before she could move again, a hand clapped across her mouth.

"Shhh."

Voices rang out, and grass and twigs cracked underfoot as bodies moved through the brush nearby. She lay still until all was silent again, and the light had flickered off into the distance.

The hand at her mouth relaxed, and she inhaled deeply through her mouth, sending another stab of agony through her head and beneath her rib cage.

What was she doing here? She remembered going to bed the night before, and then Dane, growling . . .

In a flood, she remembered. Howe's soldiers attacked the castle. Oriana and Oren were dead. Her parents had been left behind in the castle, and were surely dead by now, as well, along with everyone else she had ever known in Highever.

The hand that had been clapped across her mouth must belong to Duncan, the Warden commander.

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she forced them back. She didn't want to make any unnecessary movements that would cause her head to pound and her side to ache more than they already did.

"I apologize for my hand," Duncan whispered. "But Howe's men are all around us. I couldn't risk you crying out."

"I understand." As she pushed herself up onto one elbow, she groaned from the pain. A gentle pressure against her mind told her Dane was nearby. "Where are we?"

"In the woods near the castle. I'm not sure they've realized yet that you escaped. It would be best for us to put as much distance between ourselves and Highever as possible, if you're capable of traveling."

"Have you a poultice?"

"For your head?"

"No." She rubbed at her face with one hand. Actually, the pain in her head had subsided a bit. But her side hurt more than before, and she felt light-headed. How much blood had she lost, anyway? "I have a wound. Here." She touched her side. "I was hit by an arrow before I managed to get into my armor. Right at the start."

"Maker," he swore softly. With surprisingly gentle hands, he unbuckled and removed her cuirass. The nightgown she'd wrapped around her middle was soaked through with a terrifying amount of blood that looked black in the waning moonlight.

Rhianna panted softly and breathed through the pain, as Duncan tended to her wound. He rubbed healing salve over the puncture and helped her sit up so he could wrap it up with a proper bandage. Then he strapped her armor back into place. Already, it felt much better, although sitting up did make her feel dizzy, and she clutched at Duncan's shoulder to keep from losing her balance.

He pressed a vial into her hand. "Drink this."

She did as she was told, and almost immediately felt much better, as the healing draught did its work. Her head stopped hurting, the ache in her side was greatly reduced, and her mind felt clearer as well.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, do you think you're up to traveling? We'll move slowly, as quietly as possible."

"Yes."

Duncan let Rhianna lead the way; she knew these lands better than anyone. She forced herself to focus on the path, on working out the best route that would take them, unseen, up into the hills. Maybe if she kept her eyes on the ground at her feet, she could keep at bay the memories of the night before. Keep at bay the panic and grief that churned inside of her, that threatened to burst out and overwhelm her if she let her thoughts stray from the task at hand.

It took them several hours, but finally they made it far enough away from the castle that they hadn't seen or heard any sign of soldiers in more than an hour. They continued up into the foothills, not on the road, but on deer trails, so they would not likely be seen by anyone who came up the road looking for them.

A few minutes after the sky began to pinken in the east, Gwyn found them. Rhianna had rarely been so happy to see another living creature, but-

Oh, no.

She stopped walking as her stomach lurched at this new realization.

What about Faolan? Maker's blood, he was trapped in the stables in Highever.

_Oh, please, please, please let him be all right._

Surely, Howe wasn't stupid or cruel enough to harm the horses and livestock, but if he knew Faolan was Rhianna's mount, he might hurt the horse out of spite.

"Rhianna?" Duncan asked. "Is something wrong?"

"My horse. He's back in the stables at the castle. We've got to go back for him."

"That's not possible. Even if we could manage to get back to the castle without being seen, how do you expect to get you and your horse away from there without being captured?"

"I know the castle better than anyone. I can sneak in, and . . . Faolan is fast. We can outrun anyone who comes after us." But even as the argument left her lips, she knew it was futile. Duncan was right. Faolan was beyond her reach now; she would just have to pray that he came to no harm before she could figure out a way to take Highever back from Rendon Howe. To come back and kill Howe and every single guard who had attacked her family.

She let out a breath, and it felt like the last vestiges of hope were exhaled along with it. The last vestiges of joy, and all the good things she had ever known in the whole of her life. A life that was gone forever.

Her vision blurred, and, furiously, she blinked the tears away as she started walking again, toward the mountains.

They had made good progress by the time the sun had fully risen in the eastern sky, and Duncan suggested they stop and have a rest and something to eat and drink.

Side by side, they sat on a large, flat rock that overlooked the valley and the castle below. Other than a few tendrils of smoke coming from unusual places, from here it was impossible to tell that anything was amiss in Highever. After a minute, Rhianna turned her head away. She didn't want to think about the castle or her family or anything at all right now.

Instead, she chewed on the dried meat Duncan had handed her, and rubbed Dane's neck as the hound nuzzled as close to her as he could get without actually climbing into her lap.

"I'm sorry for what I had to do in there," Duncan said after they'd sat in silence for a while. "The soldiers were coming, and there was no time to waste. So, I did what was needed to make sure you didn't die along with the rest of your family."

Rhianna turned to look at him. She'd never been quite this close to him before, and for the first time she noticed his eyes. Brown, and just a shade lighter than one would expect considering his dark hair and complexion. He had full lips, and a hooked nose. His beard was in need of a trim, but the hair that was pulled back in a queue was as neat as always. He certainly didn't look as though he'd spent the night fighting his way out of a castle under attack, and dragging an unconscious young woman halfway across Highever.

All in all, he looked like someone you would expect to see on a pirate ship, right down to the single gold earring he wore.

She realized she hadn't yet responded to Duncan's apology. In truth, she wasn't really sure what to say. Did she lie, and tell him it was all right? That she didn't mind he'd knocked her over the head? That he'd stolen her away from the family she loved so much she would have rather died with them than be forced to carry on alone? Should she yell? Curse him? Throw a fit and stomp her feet and say she would never join the Wardens, even though he and she both knew those words were empty? She'd been conscripted, and she was fairly certain there was nothing - no authority in Ferelden, or anywhere else in Thedas – that could reprieve her from that fate.

Perhaps he expected her to cry. She was rather surprised that she wasn't crying, to be honest. But when she looked at the castle now, there was no sadness. She felt numb, as though none of this were really happening. As though it were merely a bad dream from which she had yet to awaken, and all she had to do was wander, and not think too closely on it, until morning.

"I understand," she said, finally. She supposed it was true. It would have been a waste of her life to die along with her parents, and it would have given Rendon Howe a great deal of pleasure. He'd always disliked her. Hated her, even. What was it one of the soldiers had said? That Howe had ordered her not to be killed. She was to be taken alive, if possible.

What was that about?

No. On second thought, she was probably better off not knowing.

She turned back to Duncan. "Is this why you came to Highever? Am I what you wanted all along?"

He let out a breath. "Yes. To be honest, you were the one I wanted all along. I've known since the day we met in the Bannorn that you have what it takes to be a Warden. And when you fought your way through that castle, fought your way to my side, I knew I was right."

"I didn't fight my way to you," she insisted, although she had no energy for a real argument. "I fought my way to my father."

He said nothing in response to that. Instead, he asked, "Are you up to traveling further today? Or would you prefer to get some sleep."

Sleep? The thought of even a few minutes of blissful oblivion in the Fade sounded wonderful, but there was no way in the world she would be able to sleep, not yet. Better to keep going, and exhaust her body so thoroughly that it would have no choice but to collapse into unconsciousness sometime later.

"Let's keep going." She paused. "Just where are we going, anyway? I assume we're going to Ostagar, but which route would you prefer to take? Through the mountains and along the lake, or through the Bannorn?"

"We are, indeed, on our way to Ostagar. But there's at least one stop I need to make first. It's not far out of the way."

"What stop?"

"Kinloch Hold. To request that more mages be sent to assist the king's troops in battling the darkspawn. To date, only about a dozen Circle mages have been sent."

The Circle Tower? Rhianna had never been there before. Ah well. It was as good a place to go as any. She wasn't likely to notice her surroundings much no matter where they went. "The most direct route there would be to go through the mountains. We can stop in West Hill along the way. It should take us about four days to walk to there, and then another four to Lake Calenhad." Again, she missed Faolan, and hoped that he was safe.

When they'd finished their meal, they headed further up into the hills. Rhianna took them via a route that kept them off of the main road, although eventually, there would be sections of the mountains they wouldn't be able to pass any other way. Still, as long as they kept vigilant for riders coming from Highever, Duncan seemed confident they wouldn't have any trouble.

As the sun began to set, Rhianna realized that for the past hour or so, it had been a constant struggle to put one foot in front of the other. Still, she said nothing, and kept marching along in front of Duncan, until he called for a halt.

"Let's camp here," he suggested. "Unless you know of a better place nearby?"

They were in a small clearing, with a stream running along one edge. It looked like a fine place to camp, and she couldn't think of anywhere else to suggest, so they stopped for the night. Lighting a fire was out of the question; Howe was sure to have sent at least a few soldiers on horseback to follow them, once they'd realized that Rhianna - and Duncan, who was a witness to the whole thing - had escaped.

"What I don't understand," Rhianna said as she and Duncan sat together near the stream and ate another meal of dried meat, "is how Howe thinks he could possibly get away with this. What is he planning to tell everyone else? The Landsmeet, and the king? That someone else attacked the castle and massacred the Cousland family? In order for that to work, he would have had to kill everyone in the castle, and make sure that no one - not even one person who'd seen a Howe device - escaped. Or does he think he can convince everyone that my family deserved to be murdered? Even little Oren? I've disliked the man for years, but I honestly wouldn't have thought him capable of something like this. He was just talking about how he still had hopes I would marry his son Thomas. Is he mad?"

"I wish I had an answer for you, Rhianna. It doesn't make any sense to me, either. Perhaps Howe intends to use the chaos in the south as a diversion, hoping that no one will look too hard at what happened in Highever."

"The murder of an entire family? The second most powerful family in all of Ferelden? Does he really think no one will look too hard at what happened?"

"If the darkspawn break through the army at Ostagar, it's entirely possible that no one will look too hard. Not until it's too late to do anything about it."

"It's already too late. My parents and my nephew are dead."

Duncan held her gaze as he nodded slowly. "You're right. Forgive me, Rhianna. I . . . I can only imagine what you must be going through right now, after such a profound loss."

Duncan's sympathy made her uncomfortable, somehow, as though it would bring her grief to the surface, force her to look at it, straight on. That was something she didn't want to do. Right now, she felt empty inside, and she was glad for it. If she started to fill up with feelings, it might be too much for her to bear, and she didn't want to break down, fall into a hole she couldn't climb back out of. Not once since waking up in the forest had she cried, and she didn't intend to let herself start now.

If she started, she might never stop.

Once the sun had set, the temperature dropped quickly in the hills. This led to a rather urgent problem: she hadn't left the castle prepared for this little camping trip. She had no gear, no spare clothing, no bedroll. And with no fire, it promised to be a very cold night, indeed. It was only the very beginning of autumn, and fortunately the weather hadn't yet turned chill, but wearing nothing but her leather armor was not going to be at all comfortable. She wasn't even wearing a linen shift underneath, and her blood-stained nightgown had been left behind on the floor of the forest near the castle.

Duncan pulled a bedroll out of his pack.

"I've been traveling through Ferelden," he explained when he saw the question in her gaze. "When I heard the commotion, I grabbed my entire pack. Fortunately, most of my belongings were still inside. We can take turns sleeping in the bedroll. Would you like to keep watch first, or sleep first?" he asked.

"Actually," she replied, "neither of us needs to keep watch. Between Dane down here, and Gwyn up in the trees, nothing is going to approach this camp without one of them letting us know."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I've entrusted my life to Dane many times in the past. He won't let anything happen to me. Not without giving plenty of warning. Who do you think woke me up last night?"

Duncan's eyes narrowed, as though he were trying to judge just how trustworthy she was. Not that she particularly cared what he thought of her.

"If the idea of having Dane keep watch makes you uncomfortable," she said, "I'll sit up first. You can sleep."

He stared a moment longer, and shook his head. "No, it's fine." He tossed the bedroll to her. "If you trust your animals, that's good enough for me."

She stared at the bedroll in her hands. "Then why are you giving me this? Aren't you going to sleep?"

"Yes. But you're wearing less than I am, and you've got an injury. You take it. I'll be fine."

"All right," she shrugged. If he didn't mind freezing, she certainly wasn't going to complain. She hadn't asked him to take her away from Highever. In fact, she had quite vehemently asked him not to. So, she laid out the bedroll, removed her boots, and snuggled down inside. Dane stretched himself out along her front, and she threw an arm over him, enjoying the added warmth his body provided.

She glanced at Duncan; he had settled himself up against a tree.

"Are you going to sleep like that?" she asked. "Sitting up? You are going to sleep, aren't you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." The moon had risen high enough in the sky that the clearing was well lit, and she could see the plumes made by Duncan's breath as he spoke. It was going to be a cold night.

She sat up, earning a concerned look from Dane. "You can't stay like that all night long. It's too cold. Let's . . . let's just share the bedroll. Come and sleep beside me."

"No. It's kind of you to offer, but I-"

"You what? You want to freeze? Besides, I'll be warmer, too, with you next to me."

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in any way. Or for you to think I might try to take advantage of you. Of the fact that we're traveling alone together."

"I asked you to join me, Duncan. Does that sound like I'm worried about you taking advantage?" He didn't respond. "If it makes you feel any better, the last man who tried to force himself on me had his throat torn out. With a hair comb."

After a moment of silence, a laugh erupted from Duncan's chest. "Andraste's arse. Remind me not to underestimate you."

For some reason, Duncan's laughter triggered her own, and for a brief while they laughed together in the freezing woods, with not nearly enough miles yet between them and the ravaged castle that had once been her home.

Duncan got to his feet. "All right. No hair combs, though. If I do anything inappropriate, please just use your dagger."

"Fair enough," she agreed, feeling hollow and rather fragile after the laughter that had gone as suddenly as it appeared.

She turned her head while Duncan removed his boots and plate armor, and slid into the bedroll beside her. When he had settled himself, she scooted toward him so her back was pressed entirely along the front of his body, and Dane returned to his position stretched out along her front.

"If your backside gets cold," she said over her shoulder, "let me know, and I'll have Dane switch places. He's like a little hearth."

When Rhianna closed her eyes, her mind was flooded with memories of the night before: flickering firelight and the acrid smell of smoke in the corridors of the castle. The sound of Howe's men thumping on the door of the Great Hall, her father clutching his side as blood pooled on the floor of the larder. Oren's pale face, his eyes staring up at nothing. Her breath caught in her chest, and Duncan put a hand on her upper arm, in a gesture of comfort.

She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, as she pushed the images, the smells and the sounds out of her mind. Dane whimpered softly, and nuzzled himself closer to her, pushing his nose up against her neck.

At least she was warm.

That was the last thought that ran through her mind before sleep rushed out of nowhere to claim her.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my wonderful beta readers, Sehnsuchttraum and Psyche Sinclair, and also to my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, Irish_Changeling, DarkspawnHorror, and Riptide.
> 
> Next chapter: Loghain. :)


	4. I heard a young maid singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain, at Ostagar.

__**10 Solace, 9:30 Dragon**  
 _**Ostagar** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain lie awake on his cot and stared at the ceiling of the tent. It fluttered slowly in the wind, almost as though taking one long breath after another. The motion was soothing; perhaps it would help calm his mind, and ease him into the Fade.

Sleep had not come easily, of late. That was to be expected, of course; they were at war. A war unlike any he had fought before in some ways, but in others, everything was all too familiar. Cramped quarters, rationed food. Not quite enough alcohol. The stench of unwashed bodies, and gangrene, and hastily dug latrines. The scent of smoke from campfires and cooking fires and pyres. Dogs barking, the cries and moans of the injured and the tainted.

For all its unpleasantness, though, occasionally there were things that soothed the nerves. The way the late afternoon sun illuminated dust motes in the air, and took the edge off the early autumn chill. The voice of a Chantry sister as she recited a prayer. Laughter, as jokes were told and songs were sung around campfires.

Just now, in fact, a woman was singing softly into the night.

_"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising,_  
 _I heard a young maid singing in the valley below._  
 _Oh, don't deceive me,_  
 _Oh never leave me._  
 _How could you use a young maiden so?"_ __  


Almost certainly, it was no soldier whose clear, lovely voice now drifted through the king's camp, but one of the whores - women, mostly, along with a handful of men - who followed the camp to ply their own trade. It was hardly surprising they chose to be here; there was good money to be made. Being away from home made for lonely nights, and the looming specter of death often inspired soldiers to live to the fullest during what might be their last days.

Loghain understood these urges, and shared them more frequently than he would care to admit, but even so, he had no desire to take a prostitute into his bed. He'd visited the Pearl a few times after Celia died, but that was years ago, and the thought of doing so now was profoundly unappealing. There was only one woman he wanted that way, and she was beyond his reach now. Best to push those thoughts from his mind, and ignore the feelings that imposed themselves upon his body from time to time.

When the sun shone, distractions were easy to find. His days were filled with meetings and briefings and time spent pouring over maps. Scouting parties reported the numbers of darkspawn seen on the fringes of the Wilds, and what could be discovered about their movements. Correspondence arrived from across Ferelden, letters that detailed whose troops would be expected, and when. He wrote letters, as well. Detailed accounts to his daughter, and lists of the dead to the lieutenant left behind in Denerim, so the families could be notified that their loved ones would not return home.

Such casualties had been relatively few. Even one dead soldier was too many, but considering the size of the horde they faced, they'd done well thus far. Three battles had been fought, and a number of smaller skirmishes, and the army had always pushed the darkspawn back, killing far more of the creatures than human lives were lost. But each time, the darkspawn returned, and in greater numbers. The horde had nearly doubled in size between the first battle they fought and the most recent one, just three days ago. And all indications suggested this trend would continue.

The armies under Loghain's command were formidable. Well-trained Denerim soldiers, along with Maric's Shield, were already here, as were men from Gwaren, South Reach, West Hills and the Ruswold, although Urien Kendells was the only arl who had accompanied his soldiers. More arrived daily in Ostagar, and would continue to do so. Highever and Amaranthine were expected soon, and Cailan had recently sent word to Redcliffe, asking Eamon Guerrin when his troops could be expected.

Eamon.

Loghain grunted with displeasure when the arl's face appeared in his mind.

That was another problem that would need to be dealt with, once this business with the darkspawn was done.

Two months ago, on the day before the armies had marched away from Denerim, Loghain had been in the library of the Gwaren Estate, reviewing treasury accounts. Preparing an army to march out to war was more complicated than he remembered. Although, to be fair, organizing the Rebellion had been vastly different. Back then, they started out with nothing, and built an entire army from the ground up. Mobilizing a standing army and sending them in an organized fashion was something of a different beast. There were a great many things to consider, and he needed to be certain nothing important had fallen through the cracks.

Since the standing armies were already equipped with arms and armor, food was the most important consideration. The army would not be able to forage much, if anything, off of the land; the Korcari Wilds were too impenetrable, and there were concerns about darkspawn taint. This meant that all food would need to be brought in down the Imperial Highway. Wheat, barley, peas and beans. Oxen, sheep, and pigs to be slaughtered upon arrival. Cured bacon, dried herring and countless wheels of cheese. The army would require at least three hundred tons of wheat per week for bread alone, and an equal amount of barley for making ale.

Hiring merchants to provide these supplies had been simple enough, and as long as the roads remained clear of darkspawn, the supply lines would hold. Paying for all of it was another matter. The nobles were responsible for victualing their own troops, but even so, Loghain would have to find funds to support the royal armies, which comprised the bulk of the soldiers who would be first to arrive in the the south. The royal treasury was not nearly as robust as Loghain would have liked; to be honest, it had never entirely recovered from the two long years he'd spent searching for Maric. There were funds to support the troops for four or five months - perhaps six - but if the darkspawn couldn't be contained within that time . . .

He closed the ledger book, and looked out the window into the garden. There was no point in worrying about that now. With any luck the darkspawn would be defeated quickly. Ferelden had everything needed to make this stand, for the time being.

A knock sounded at the door. It was Colin, Loghain's new footman. He'd been hired only a few months ago, and Loghain wasn't yet accustomed to the man's manner, his pattern of speech, the sounds of him around the house. Nor, Loghain supposed, was Colin accustomed to Loghain's ways. But given time, no doubt the two men would learn one another's habits, although Loghain doubted they would ever have the sort of easy unspoken communication that Loghain had shared with Uthalas.

"Begging pardon, Your Grace, but you have a visitor."

"A visitor? Who is it?"

"Bann Nicola Baranti, ser."

Nicola? That was unexpected. He couldn't remember her ever coming to the estate before. He wasn't really in the mood to entertain guests, but Nicola was hardly a frivolous person; if she was here, no doubt she had something of consequence to discuss.

"Send her in."

Once they had exchanged greetings, and the white-haired bann was settled on the sofa with a glass of port, she wasted little time. "No doubt, you're curious as to why I'm here."

"That much is true," Loghain agreed. "What is it you wanted to see me about?"

"Well," she began, "It's a bit of a difficult subject to be honest, and I know you're extremely busy right now, preparing to march off to war, so I'll come right to the point. Some information fell into my hands recently. Information you should be aware of."

"What sort of information?"

"About the attempt on your life last year, when you were on your way to Gwaren."

What? Was she serious? Judging by her expression, she most assuredly was.

"What do you know about that? And how did this information come into your hands?"

"I have eyes and ears throughout the city," she replied. "And one of them overhead some talk in a tavern near the waterfront. There was a man who claimed to have been the only one to escape, after a failed ambush in the Brecilian Forest. He had a number of things to say about the attack, and also about the man who hired him."

"The  _man_  who hired him?" He lifted a brow. "I assumed the assassins were sent by Empress Celene."

"Yes, I expect that's what most of us assumed. And, no doubt, what the man who hired them hoped everyone would continue to assume, had they been successful. But it so happens these assassins were not sent by a foreign power, but by someone right here in Ferelden."

"Who?"

She held his gaze. "Eamon Guerrin."

"What? Eamon? Are you sure about this?"

"Positive. I would not be here otherwise. My sources are reliable."

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Eamon? Why in the world would he have done such a thing?"

"That," Nicola replied with a shake of her head, "I do not know. No whisper of motive was part of the intelligence that came to me. Chances are the assassins themselves had no idea. I suppose he must want you out of the way for some political reason, but I can't piece together a theory about exactly what that could be."

"Hmnh. Eamon and I have never seen eye to eye, on a great many things, but this?" He sat back. "This is unconscionable."

"My thought exactly." She shrugged. "As I said, I honestly can't fathom what his reasons might be. But I thought, especially with the trouble in the south creating such a distraction, you deserved to know that you have an enemy. Probably not just the one." She gave him a crooked grin. "But one you might not have expected."

"Yes, this is definitely unexpected."

She stood. "And now, I've done what I came here to do, so I'll leave you to your preparations."

Loghain got to his feet, as well. "Thank you, very much. I appreciate you coming to me with this information."

"You're welcome. And good luck with the war. As I'm sure you know, I'm sending a unit of my guard with the royal armies, and those who remain here can help keep the peace in the city while you're gone. And of course, I'll do everything in my power to support Queen Anora while the king is at Ostagar."

"I'm sure she will appreciate that," Loghain said truthfully.

The woman smiled. "Maker watch over you."

"Maker watch over us all."

After Nicola left, he'd tried to get his head around this new information. Had Eamon Guerrin really hired those assassins? It seemed unlikely, but he trusted Nicola. In the past, information that came from her "sources" had always been accurate, and she was an honest woman who had done more good works in Denerim than any other single person in recent years. So he did not doubt that it was true.

But why? Why would Eamon want Loghain dead?

Feeling restless, he'd taken a walk to the palace, to speak with his daughter in private.

"I trust you're prepared to march out in the morning?" she asked, after they were settled in chairs near the window of her private chambers. A wry smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. "I can't imagine you would be here, visiting, if you weren't."

"Yes," he chuckled. "I'm ready. For the most part. I'm sure I've forgotten things, but hopefully nothing crucial." He caught her gaze. "I'm not really here just to visit, though."

"No?" Had something dulled in her eyes? Some joy at the thought he'd come just to see her? "What brings you then?" she asked, her smile tighter than before.

Damn. He should have been more careful with his words. "I had a visit this morning from Nicola Baranti. She had some very interesting news to report."

"Bann Nicola?" Anora's brow arched, and any hint of hurt feelings seemed to have fled. "What news?"

"Apparently, it wasn't Celene who hired that last bunch of assassins that came after me."

"No? And Nicola knows who  _did_  send them?"

"Yes. According to her 'sources,' it was Eamon Guerrin."

"Eamon? Andraste's arse! But why?"

"That part is still a mystery."

Anora regarded him through narrowed, thoughtful eyes. "It happened just after the Landsmeet ended, but I can't think of anything that was brought up last year that would have provoked such an attack. I do know Eamon fought with Cailan before returning to Redcliffe, although I've no idea what their disagreement was about. And . . . oh . . ." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened, slightly. "I wonder." She chewed on her bottom lip, and then shook her head. "No, that makes no sense."

"What makes no sense?"

"I received a letter not long ago, from Isolde Guerrin. Asking for my assistance." She paused; Loghain remained silent and waited for her to continue. "Apparently, her son, Connor, has show signs of . . . magic."

"The Guerrin boy is a mage?"

Anora let out a breath. "It appears so, yes. Do you remember, last year there was some business with a fire in Redcliffe? Apparently Connor was the one who started the fire. And not by playing with hot coals."

"Maker's balls. The boy is Redcliffe's only heir.  _Was_  Redcliffe's only heir. He can't inherit now."

"No, he can't. Although I suspect Isolde has some hope of . . . covering it up."

"What do you mean?"

"The reason she wrote to me was to ask if I knew of anyone who might be able to tutor the boy. In secret."

"Tutor? You mean, a mage?"

"Yes. To teach the boy to control his magic."

"Rather than sending him to the Circle Tower? She'd better hope the Templars don't catch wind of it. What did you tell her?"

"I said I wasn't sure I could help, but that I would keep my ears open."

"Does it seem strange that she would contact you, of all people? You're the queen. You can hardly be complicit in trying to shelter an apostate mage."

"I suspect Isolde does not think of her son as an apostate. He's only ten years old. She just wants to protect him, and she and I have always gotten along well, on those occasions when we've met. I think, too, that Eamon's dislike of me might have factored into her decision. She probably thinks it's unlikely that news of this will get back to him through me."

"What do you mean, 'get back to him?' Does he not know?"

"No. Not as of Isolde's letter, he didn't. And she seemed determined that he should  _not_  find out." She paused. "Of course, that also means it can't possibly be related to this assassination attempt of his. He doesn't even know his own son is a mage. Which means we're back to square one. I can't think of any obvious reason he would want you out of way. I wonder what he's up to?"

Loghain shrugged. "I wish I knew."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Do about it?" He let out a breath. "That's a good question. For the moment, nothing, I suppose. Other than watch my back even more carefully than before. Hopefully the man isn't foolish enough to try and carry out some sort of plan now, while we're at war against the darkspawn. Once this business at Ostagar is dealt with, well, I'll have to think about it, won't I?"

"I don't suppose Nicola provided any tangible proof?"

"No, just talk overheard in a tavern. It's credible, though."

"If you believe it, that's good enough for me, but it won't be good enough to bring before the Landsmeet, or deal with in any official way. It's a delicate situation; Eamon holds a reasonable amount of power in the south, and some sway over Cailan." She shrugged. "Of course, I could take care of it quietly for you, if you like."

Her blue eyes were calm, and her expression placid. To look at her, you'd never know she'd just offered to have someone in her employ assassinate the Arl of Redcliffe.

"No. Thank you, but no. I think it's all right to let it sit for a while. I'll watch my back, and try and figure out just why he's come to view me as a threat. In the meantime, I need to focus on dealing with the darkspawn."

"As you wish. But this cannot be ignored indefinitely, and it most certainly will not be forgotten. Eamon will pay for this, one way or another." She paused. "What do you think it's going to take? To deal with the darkspawn, I mean." She rubbed at the palm of her hand with her thumb. "Cailan seems to think it will all be over soon. That the army will defeat all of them in one 'glorious' battle. But Duncan didn't seem so optimistic, and the reports from the south are far worse than anything I had expected."

"It's difficult for me to say," he admitted. "I won't know for certain, not until I see with my own eyes what is happening in the south. I think it will likely take longer than Cailan expects, but I have no doubt that we  _will_  end this. Darkspawn die as easily as any other enemy in battle; Rhianna and I discovered that for ourselves last year. With careful planning, and support from the banns and arls - and Bryce Cousland, of course - we will defeat this threat. I swear it."

"I know you will. I just . . . well, I fear it's not going to be an easy road, for any of us." Her brow creased and she tilted her head. "Father?"

She paused, and he lifted a brow at her, as he waited for her to say whatever was on her mind.

She took a breath, and continued, "Are you all right? I feel like we haven't spoken properly in . . . well, in quite some time. After the Landsmeet last year, you left Denerim in what seemed like a hurry. And now, you seem . . . I don't know . . . subdued. Of course, I know you must still be upset over the tragedy of Uthalas' death. But is something else is wrong? Did something happen last year? Why did you leave the city so suddenly?"

His breath caught in his chest. He genuinely was not sure how to answer this question. Did something happen?

Yes, something happened. So many things happened, and other things didn't, and even a year later he still ached inside to think of it.

To think about  _her_.

But could he tell Anora the truth? That he'd fallen in love with Rhianna Cousland. That he'd intended to marry her, take her with him to Gwaren. That her father had rejected Loghain's proposal, and everything had fallen apart.

No, of course he wasn't going to tell Anora. How he could he, now that it was all over? Now that anything he'd hoped for with Rhianna was gone forever. Anora knew nothing about this failed relationship, and it would be better for everyone involved if it stayed that way. Thoughts of Rhianna were best left behind, period.

"I'm fine," he assured his daughter. "I'm just focused on this problem in the south." Hopefully she wouldn't notice that he hadn't really answered her question.

Of course, she did.

"But that doesn't explain why you left-"

Movement in the doorway, as Anora's elven lady-in-waiting walked into the room. Erlina had been with Anora for many years now, since just after her marriage to Cailan. Anora had taken the Orlesian woman on while Loghain was at sea, and by the time he returned, she had integrated herself completely into palace life. As a lady-in-waiting, Erlina was impeccable. Her manner was always appropriate. She looked the part, and was always carefully dressed and coiffed. She maintained a perfect balance between efficiency and friendliness and candor. Too perfect, frankly, and Loghain had never quite shaken his suspicion of her. It seemed likely she'd been sent here by Celene as a spy, although Loghain had never been able to uncover any evidence of this.

Either way, Anora was adamant that the woman could be trusted, so Loghain just kept a quiet eye on her. It made him nervous now, though, to think that Anora would be alone in city, with Loghain, Cailan, and the bulk of the army all gone for Maker knows how long. A perfect opportunity for Erlina to strike, if she was indeed an agent of the empress.

Then again, perhaps Celene had given up on such plans. She wasn't responsible for the attack last August, which meant it had been five years since she'd taken any overt action against him, or anyone else in Ferelden. As far as he knew, anyway. That, in and of itself was troubling. Did the empress have something new in mind? Some new way of taking Ferelden back? For surely, that was still her ultimate goal.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," Erlina exclaimed. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, Your Grace. I had no idea I would be interrupting."

"It's all right, Erlina," Anora reassured. "My father and I were just visiting before he leaves tomorrow."

"Of course." The woman bowed, and began to back out of the room again. "I'll leave you alone, then."

"No need." Loghain pushed himself to his feet. Best to leave now, before Anora had the chance to ask more questions Loghain would prefer not to answer. "I need to take my leave, anyway." He turned to Anora. "There are still a few preparations I should make before morning."

"Of course." She stood, and stepped toward him. Without hesitation, she put her arms around him and pulled him close. He returned her embrace, gratefully. "Be safe, Father," she murmured in his ear. "And come home again, as soon as you can."

When he pulled away, he grasped her chin gently in his hand. "I will, Norrie. I promise."

‹›‹O›‹›

_"Remember the vows that you made to me truly._  
 _Remember the bower where you vowed to be mine._  
 _Gay is the garland,_  
 _Fresh are the roses,_  
 _I've culled from the garden to place upon my brow."_ __  


The woman's voice floated through the night, and brought Loghain out of his reverie. He shifted on the cot, and tried to find a more comfortable position.

Now, they'd been at Ostagar for two months, and Loghain feared he was no closer to keeping his promise to Anora than when they'd arrived. The first battles had gone well. In truth all the battles had gone well. But the darkspawn just kept coming. At some point, probably soon, the king and his armies would be outnumbered. And if they couldn't defeat the darkspawn here, from such a defensible position, how would they stop them if they surged north into the rest of Ferelden?

If that happened, they would need to call upon allies. At least some of the Marcher lords would be willing to send help, if asked, but that was a tricky business, and no one kingdom in the Free Marches had a significant military force. Nevarra, as well, was on friendly terms with Ferelden, but much of their energy was being used to keep their border with Orlais safe, so they were unlikely to have much help to send. There was no significant relationship with either Antiva or Rivain, although they'd be foolish not to send help against darkspawn, if it turned out this was a blight. Asking Orlais was, of course, out of the question.

Loghain wasn't convinced, though, that this truly was a blight. There were a fair number of darkspawn, yes. But no sign of an archdemon. Wouldn't it be leading the horde if this were truly a blight? That's what all the legends said, at any rate.

Even so, with every day that passed, Loghain felt less confident. He still believed that, ultimately, Ferelden would succeed at ridding themselves of the creatures, but he wasn't sure they would be able to defeat the darkspawn, decisively, in a single battle. Under other circumstances, that wouldn't be a problem. With careful planning, they would whittle away at the horde from a well-defended position. It might take a while, but eventually they would succeed.

But Cailan had grown restless, and was insisting they throw all their resources at the horde at once. That the combined might of the armies and the Grey Wardens would be enough to send the darkspawn screaming back underground for once and for all.

Loghain wasn't convinced. For one, there were surprisingly few Grey Wardens. Fewer than two dozen, which seemed ludicrous. While it was somewhat reassuring not to be overrun with Wardens, who were untrustworthy at best, it seemed odd that there were so few, two decades on from when Maric allowed the order back into Ferelden. More to the point, though, Loghain feared that sending all their troops outside of the protection afforded them by the city would leave the armies vulnerable. Much better to continue fighting smaller battles they were guaranteed to win, rather than risking all in a single, "glorious" assault. But Cailan had begun to balk at any battle plan that didn't involve ending this all at once, with him fighting in the vanguard, alongside his beloved Grey Wardens.

It was troubling. Deeply troubling, but Loghain was doing his best to ensure that, if the king did insist on a battle of this nature, they would have the best possible chance to win. Bryce and Howe should be here within the month with a sizable force. And hopefully Eamon would bring his Redcliffe soldiers, although they weren't nearly as numerous as the combined forces of Highever and Amaranthine.

Again, thought of the Arl of Redcliffe brought a frown to Loghain's face. He still had no idea what that bastard was up to. For two months, Loghain had tried to come up with a plausible theory as to why the Arl of Redcliffe would want him dead. Yes, the two men had never gotten along. Eamon made no secret of the fact he thought Loghain was a commoner and a churl whom Maric should never have elevated to the nobility. But surely, that alone could not have motivated Eamon to hire assassins, not thirty years down the road.

So why? Why now? Was he planning something? Something that required Loghain to be out of the way? Perhaps he had some idea about convincing Cailan to set Anora aside. Loghain had heard whispers from various quarters about that. The king and queen had been married five years now, and not managed to produce an heir. Of course, that was almost certainly Cailan's fault, given the number of women he'd bedded, none of whom had conceived a child, but few members of the nobility seemed to consider that possibility. Did Eamon think that, with Loghain out of the way, it would be easier to force Anora off of the throne?

That was the most plausible theory Loghain had come up with, but he was far from convinced. At any rate, there was nothing to be done about it right now. With everyone occupied at Ostagar, no doubt Eamon would put his machinations on hold, and Loghain would have to bide his time and watch his back, and trust that any other assassins the man hired would be as incompetent as the first bunch.

Except they hadn't been  _entirely_  incompetent. They'd killed Uthalas.

Loghain ran a hand across his face. Sometimes he still could hardly believe Uthalas was gone. They'd been together for decades. Uthalas was the one person who had stood by Loghain through everything, all those years. And he'd died so pointlessly.

Damn Eamon to the Void.

And it still chilled Loghain to the bone to think about what might have happened if Bryce had given his consent for Loghain and Rhianna to marry.

She would have been with them when they traveled to Gwaren. She would have been there when the assassins attacked. Yes, she was a warrior more than capable of handling herself, but so were Uthalas and the guards who had died. The ambush had been well planned; they'd had no warning at all. Uthalas had fallen from his horse, dead from an arrow in his throat, before Loghain had time to react. If Rhianna had been there, it might have been her throat the arrow had pierced.

Loghain's chest felt hollow and his breath sped up at the mere thought of it. At the thought of any harm coming to her.

Another verse of the song rang through the night air.

_"Through yonder grove by the spring that is running,_  
 _There you and I have so merrily played._  
 _Kissing and courting,_  
 _And gently sporting._  
 _Oh, my innocent heart you've betrayed."_ __  


Anora's voice in his head, again. _Did something happen last year?_

Maker's balls.

He'd known all along it was foolish to fall in love with Rhianna Cousland. She was too young, too charming and cheerful, to ever be truly happy with a man like him. He'd told himself these things over and over again, and yet, when he was with her, he'd ignored all common sense.

Maker knows it was what he wanted. A life with Rhianna. Just the two of them, living in Gwaren far away from Denerim and its petty politics. They would ride out in the woods, and take long walks along the cliffs that overlooked the sea, while birds circled and cried in the air above them, and waves crashed on the rocks below. They would spar on the practice field in the central courtyard of the castle, and keep one another warm during the long winter nights. The people of Gwaren would love her, and she would have been a brilliant teyrna, with her quick mind, and her excellent judgment, and her endless compassion. She would greet townspeople in the streets, and they would smile and wave and dote on her, as the people of Highever had done. And occasionally, when he was foolish enough to allow his mind to wander too far down this path, he imagined Rhianna with an infant in her arms, and a toddler - dark-haired and green-eyed - clutching at her skirt.

That was where these fantasies always ended, though, as his very darkest fears rushed in on the heels of any thought of Rhianna bearing his children.

Fears aside, when he was being honest with himself, he had to admit this was what he wanted. This life with her, all of it, and when, unbelievably, Rhianna had seemed to want it too, Loghain had ignored his doubts and fears, and convinced himself that it could work between them.

Those few weeks in August last year, the weeks they had together, were some of the happiest of his life.

Then Bryce had refused Loghain's offer of marriage, and everything had fallen apart.

At first, Loghain had been furious. Confused and furious. Why on earth would Bryce refuse? Not only was this the best possible political match for Rhianna, but it was what she wanted as well. Loghain had been prepared to argue and cajole and plead, do whatever it took to convince Bryce to agree, for Rhianna's sake as much as Loghain's.

But then Bryce had mentioned Celia.  _Would Rhianna someday be abandoned in Gwaren? Like Celia was?_

That had hit like a punch in the gut.

To be reminded of Celia, whom Loghain had failed more spectacularly than anyone else in his entire life. For a fleeting moment, Loghain had thought to argue, to swear that he would never abandon Rhianna the way he'd abandoned his wife.

But the words hadn't come, because, in truth, Loghain couldn't be certain he wouldn't do the same to Rhianna. He loved her, truly, as much as he had ever loved anyone. But he had loved Celia, as well, and that hadn't been enough. When Deirdre died, he'd run away from his wife and his surviving daughter both, unable to face his feelings - his grief and guilt and the inadequacy of not knowing how to fix things. And then later, he'd been too much of a coward to go back. Loghain would never forgive himself for what he'd done to Celia, and he knew that nothing had changed. He was still the same man who had done those things. The same man who had abandoned the wife he loved when she needed him the most.

And of course, talk of Celia brought him face to face with his very worst fears. He would never stop being haunted by memories of his wife's second pregnancy. Her pale face and swollen limbs, the way even climbing the stairs was almost more than she could manage. Her labor, which started too soon. Her agonized screams, and the blood that soaked her clothes and the bed and dripped upon the floor. So much blood. And his tiny daughter, who hadn't lived to see even a single sunset.

His vision blurred, and he ran a hand across his face.

Rhianna wanted children. Of course she did, and as Teyrna of Gwaren it would be seen as her duty to provide an heir. But the thought of it - of pregnancy, and childbirth, and the countless things that could go wrong - just the mere thought of it made his chest hurt, and his stomach feel hollow and nauseous.

When Bryce had mentioned Celia, something inside Loghain shifted. Something dark and ugly and fearful. What if Bryce was right? What if Loghain would fail Rhianna in some similar way, or if being with him would cause her harm? That would be unbearable, and unforgivable.

It had taken the wind out of his arguments, and when Bryce held firm, Loghain hadn't known what to say to try to convince him, and eventually he'd just given up.

He'd left Highever House still furious, but with a whisper in the back of his mind that assured him it was, no doubt, for the best. No matter what fantasy Loghain had constructed in his mind, reality was another matter.

The worst of it was that he had known this all along. He'd had doubts all along, and he should have stopped himself - stopped the both of them - before Rhianna had grown so attached. Maker knows he'd never meant to hurt her; he'd wanted to believe the two of them could have a life together, but he managed that only by selfishly ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that told him this could never work.

Even so, he'd considered going after her. When he'd gotten her letter, a letter with tears staining the parchment, that told him she and her father were leaving Denerim that morning, he'd nearly saddled his horse and ridden after them. She'd said she didn't care what her father thought about the marriage. That she knew they were meant to be together. That they could wait until she turned eighteen, or that she would go with him now to Starkhaven, where they could marry without Bryce's permission if Loghain didn't want to wait.

But then she'd told him that she loved him.

He'd known it already. Every word she said - every glance, every touch of her hand and every comfortable silence - told him how she felt, but to see the words on the parchment had done something to him. He'd felt the weight of it like never before. This woman, this amazing, precious, beautiful woman  _loved_  him, and no part of him deserved such a treasure.

So he hadn't gone after her. He'd needed time. Time to think this through, to clear his head. Time away from her, as he couldn't think straight when she was near. Instead of going after her, he'd left Denerim. It couldn't bear to stay in the city, where everywhere he turned he was reminded of her. He would spend the winter in Gwaren, and decide what he wanted to do. Decide whether or not he wanted to try and convince Bryce to change his mind. That would depend on whether or not Loghain could convince himself he was worthy of Rhianna, after all.

Then, just after they'd entered the Brecilian Pass - Loghain and his footman and a pair of Gwaren guards - they'd been attacked. Ambushed by assassins. Uthalas and the guards were dead almost before Loghain knew what was happening. He managed to kill three of the assassins before the fourth ran off, and then he'd continued to Gwaren on his own.

As Loghain made his way to Gwaren, a single thought was at the forefront of his mind: If Bryce had agreed to the match, Rhianna would have been with them when the assassins attacked.

He had imagined her body, broken and bloody on the dirt of the Brecilian Pass. Her eyes, staring lifelessly into the sky. Her skin pale, her lips grey. He imagined the weight of her body draped across Aeran's back as he carried her to Denerim for the pyre that would consume her, and take her away from him forever.

She'd been in mortal danger before because of Loghain, when Celene's assassins had attacked near the smuggler's cove. This time, the ambush had been executed with even more skill. If they were to marry, she might well become a target herself, if someone thought to get at Loghain by attacking his wife. And of course, there were other ways a beloved wife could die.

Bryce was right. For so many reasons, Loghain was no sort of proper husband for Rhianna. There was no way he could guarantee her safety. Better for her to be safe and happy somewhere far away. And better for Loghain, as well, to know he would not be responsible, yet again, for the death of someone he loved.

Knowing this was for the best didn't stop him from hurting, though. He'd lost not only Rhianna's love and the promise of the future that they might have had together, but her friendship as well. That hurt most of all. What made it so much worse was the knowledge that it was all his fault. All his own stupidity for falling in love with her, and for letting her fall in love with him. He should have known better.

He'd needed to end it with her, for once for all, so he had written, grateful for the geographic distance between them; he would never have been strong enough to say these things to her face. But once he was away from the sound of her voice and the softness of her skin and the quiet comfort of her company, he found the strength.

No doubt, she was unhappy for a time. She had loved him, and even though he had never said it, she had to know how much he loved her. The initial shock would be difficult, but it had to be done. This was what was best for her - best for both of them - in the long run. The last thing he needed was to be torn apart by guilt when he destroyed yet another woman's life. And if some harm came to her because of him, he wasn't sure how he would have lived with himself afterward, knowing that he could have protected her just by staying away.

Of course, now it was all said and done, he had doubts about this, as well. Had he done the right thing?

In the light of day, when he could distract himself with tasks and people and letters and training, then yes. He believed he had done the right thing. Rhianna would be happier with someone else, someone younger. Someone who didn't draw danger to him the way honey drew flies. Surely, he had saved her from an unhappy fate she could never have foreseen, and possibly an early death at the hands of an assassin, or in childbirth.

But on nights like this, when sleep eluded him, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he had done the right thing, he had to face the truth: that he  _missed_  her. Missed the way she understood what he was thinking, sometimes before he understood it himself. Missed her laughter, and the way her mind worked. Her wry sense of humor. Of course, he also missed the physical relationship they had shared, so briefly. And when he thought back to what she wrote - that she loved him - he was devastated by the thought of how much his betrayal must have hurt her.

_"How could you slight so a pretty girl who loves you?_  
 _A pretty girl who loves you so dearly and warm?_  
 _Though love's folly is_  
 _Naught but a fancy,_  
 _Still it should prove sweeter to me than your scorn."_ __  


Rhianna had never written back to him. He had half expected that she would, although he wasn't sure what he thought she would say. Beg him to change his mind? Remind him that she loved him, and demand him to admit he loved her, as well? Vent her rage at the way he had mistreated her? And he did believe he had mistreated her. No matter now much pleasure he had taken from being with her - and he was certain he had given her pleasure, as well - he should never have made love to her. That was foolish and irresponsible. He should have waited until an arrangement was in place with Bryce. But the truth was, he was not sorry. That night had been . . . magnificent in every way, and if he had it to do over, he knew he would want to make love to her again, even if it was for just that one night.

That realization alone was proof of just how selfish and unworthy he truly was. That he could not bring himself to regret making love to her that night, even knowing it added to the pain both of them felt afterwards.

Now he hoped she was all right. She was young, and resilient, and naturally cheerful. Surely, she would not have remained unhappy for too terribly long, but would have put him out of her mind, and moved on with her life.

What news came to him about her indicated this was exactly what she'd done. After Cailan had visited Highever, he'd told stories about sailing and visits to the beach, and it sounded as though Rhianna was fine. More recently, Bryce took her to Orlais, and Cailan had returned from that trip with a wildly improbable story about Rhianna having an affair with some foppish Orlesian noble, a cousin of the empress. Cailan even claimed to have seen them kiss, but Loghain didn't believe it. He knew Rhianna better than that; the thought of her with an Orlesian was ridiculous. Cailan had seemed strange about it though, as though he were personally offended, and Loghain suspected there was more to the story. When pressed, however, the king had made excuses and ended the conversation, and Loghain hadn't been able to get him to speak of it again.

Then, on the day of his birthday, a parcel arrived: a map that she'd sent him from Orlais. A gorgeous map, one of the loveliest he'd ever seen, of the Brecilian Forest. He'd spent an entire afternoon studying it, pouring over every detail, allowing himself a few hours of pleasure - not just of the map, but of the fact that Rhianna had sent it. What had been in her mind at the time? In her heart? He deserved nothing from her but scorn, and still she treated him with something that looked very much like affection.

After a few hours, he'd rolled it up and hidden it away. As beautiful as it was, he didn't want to look at it. Not with the knowledge that her hands had held it, that her fingers had traced its roads and coastlines, that her eyes had lit up with joy at the colors and tiny illustrations. It reminded him too much of her, of the joy she took in small things, and the joy he took in being with her. He even fancied that he caught a whiff of her scent, although that was nonsense. So he'd put it away. Perhaps he would take it out again someday, when these feelings were no longer so raw.

Months later, as her birthday approached, he wondered if he should send something. To let her know he was thinking of her. Of course he was thinking of her. No day went by when he didn't think of her. In the end, however, he'd sent nothing. What would be the point of a gift, or a letter? Why remind of her what was likely a painful episode in her life?

Of course he was well aware she had turned eighteen. Old enough to decide for herself whom she wanted to marry, without requiring her parents' permission. There had been times, late at night as he lay sleepless in his bed, that he considered going to her, or, once he'd arrived in Ostagar, sending a message. Telling her he still loved her. That he still wanted her, and if there was any chance she felt the same, and could forgive him for what he had done . . .

In the light of day, however, he knew this was foolish. Nothing had changed. He was still not worthy of her, and could not promise her any sort of life that would make her happy. And she would always be safer with anyone other than Loghain Mac Tir.

" _Here I now wander alone as I wonder,_  
Why did you leave me to sigh and complain?  
 _I ask of the roses,  
_ _Why should I be forsaken?  
_ _Why must I here in sorrow remain?"_ __  


Surely, she'd stopped loving him long ago. Now, if only he could stop loving her. That was proving difficult, though. He remembered the shooting star they'd seen that last night, from the rooftop of Fort Drakon. What was it he had wished? _To love the woman in my arms, and to always be worthy of her._

He'd failed the second part of that wish spectacularly, but it seemed the first half would always be true. He had loved her then, and he loved her now, no matter how much he'd tried to push her from his mind, and his heart. What point was there in loving a woman who was lost to him? But no matter how hard he pushed, she wouldn't leave. The memory of her smile, of the way her hair framed her face. The curve of her neck, the swell of her perfect breasts . . .

Maker's blood. Just thinking about Rhianna, thinking about that night  _did_ things to him. To his body. She'd been more beautiful than ever before. The memory of her in the firelight, a hesitant smile as she'd reached up to touch his face. Oh, Maker, she had been so perfect. Everything she did - every smile, every touch, every sound from her throat - had been perfect. He'd had to push her away once for fear she would send him over the edge too soon. And then, the way she had moved beneath him when he pleasured her with his hand, and the way she had given herself to him. "Please," she whispered, and afterward her eyes were warm, and her voice was richer, deeper, and there was a flush to her skin. In all the years he had known her, he'd never seen her look as happy as she looked just then. And to know that he was the cause of that smile, that blush . . .

No. Damn it. He did not want his mind to go down this road right now, did not want his body to respond to those memories.

But it was too late.

Loghain turned onto his side, curled in on himself, annoyed by his body's betrayal. It was bad enough when he dreamt of her in his sleep. And oh, how he had dreamt of her. Dreams filled with candlelight and celebration, of slipping her out of her wedding finery and pulling her close. Of her lips on his skin, her legs wrapped around him. Dreams that left him sweaty and aching and broken when he awoke.

He flipped onto his other side. Yes, it was bad enough when he dreamt of her. The last thing he needed was for those thoughts to intrude on his waking hours, as well.

He considered taking himself in hand, giving himself some small measure of physical satisfaction, but he knew from experience it would leave him empty and hollow. The release wasn't worth how dreadfully alone he felt afterward, when the woman whose face he held in his mind wasn't there in his bed. When he was surrounded not by her warmth, but by cold bedclothes. When the vision of the one night he had spent in her arms faded, and he was faced with the knowledge that he would never know her in that way again.

He flipped onto his stomach, and dug his fingers into the pillow.

Better to just ignore the feelings until they went away. And pray that sleep would come eventually.

_"Thus sang the maiden, her sorrows bewailing._  
 _Thus sang the poor maid in the valley below."_ __  


The woman's voice wasn't particularly loud, yet he could hear her song quite clearly. That meant she was nearby. Which also meant . . .

Maker's balls.

The tent closest to Loghain's own was the one that belonged to Cailan. The king was entertaining company.

Of  _course_  he was.

_"Oh, don't deceive me,_  
 _Oh, never leave me,_  
 _How could you use a young maiden so?"_ __  


At the end of the chorus, the woman burst into throaty laughter, which was quickly muffled. No doubt, she and her companion now had other things on their minds.

Maker damn him.

Loghain guessed that sleep would be a long time in coming.

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, my fabulous beta readers, and to all my lovely reviewers, as well: KatDancer, DarkspawnHorror, Vicky79, Irish_Changeling, Jennifer, Fluttermoth and Riptide. 
> 
> "Early One Morning" is a traditional English folk song. I haven't recorded my own version, but you'll find many renditions of it at Youtube. For a particularly lovely one, just google "Early One Morning Harpe" and it should be the first hit. 
> 
> There's a new chapter in "Glimpses into the Darkness:" a vignette featuring Fergus and nine-year-old Rhianna on a camping trip, so you might check it out for just a little bit of fluff (although I can't promise it won't be bittersweet, with hindsight). ;)


	5. Completely alone in this world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and Duncan travel toward West Hill.

__**12 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Mountains near West Hill** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna awoke to movement at her side; she opened her eyes to discover it was still the middle of the night. Beside her in the bedroll, Duncan appeared to be in the throes of a nightmare, as had happened every night they'd been on the road so far. He moaned softly and thrashed back and forth, as though doing battle with someone in his sleep.

"Duncan." She grasped his shoulders. "Duncan, wake up." She shook him, her voice quiet, but urgent.

With a gasp, he sat up, and Rhianna had to duck out of the way to avoid being knocked backwards.

"It's all right," she soothed, and put a hand on his shoulder. "You were dreaming again, that's all."

He panted softly through his open mouth, his eyes unfocused and filled with something that looked like terror. "Maker," he swore softly. He closed his eyes and struggled to control his breath.

Dane looked up, briefly, and then returned his head to his front paws and went back to sleep.

"That sounded like a bad dream," Rhianna said. "A very bad dream. Was it darkspawn again?"

"Yes." He rubbed a hand across his face. "All my nightmares are about darkspawn."

Rhianna placed the palm of her hand against his face; his beard was rough, and his skin slightly clammy. Even though she was still angry with him for the way he'd dragged her away from Highever, she didn't like to watch him suffer.

"Is this usual?" she asked. "To dream about them every night?"

"No." He covered her hand with one of his own as he took a deep breath and let it out again. "Not until recently, anyway. I suppose that lately, I have been dreaming about them more often." He met her gaze, and his eyes were sharp, no longer so haunted. "I'm sorry for waking you, Rhianna. Maker knows you need your sleep."

"Don't worry about me." Her words weren't meant merely to comfort; they were sincere. She had managed surprisingly well, considering all that had happened.

For the past three days, she and Duncan made their way toward West Hill. After the first night they spent in the mountains, she'd awoken utterly disoriented and confused, and when she came fully awake and everything flooded back, it had hurt so intensely she'd found it difficult to breathe. She'd forced herself not to cry, terrified that if her tears started she would not be able to get herself back under control. Instead, she got up, and forced down the breakfast Duncan had offered. Then, her mind had spun out of control about just what she would do next.

Of course, as far as Duncan was concerned, they were traveling to Kinloch Hold and then to Ostagar. But that first morning, Rhianna had an almost uncontrollable urge to turn around and take the road into the Bannorn, following the route her brother had taken. He was marching with an army. Surely even on foot, Rhianna could catch up with them if she moved at a good pace. They couldn't have gone far, not in just a day and a half, and if she caught up with them now, they could march back to Highever, and retake the castle.

As soon as the thought came into her head, though, she began to have doubts. For one thing, it might not even be possible, not yet. No doubt, Howe had the whole of the Amaranthine Regulars on hand to defend the castle, and the Highever Regulars were not prepared to make any sort of extended siege, especially not with Cailan expecting them in the south. On top of that, Rhianna wasn't sure she wanted to return to Highever just yet. Even if they could retake the castle, it wouldn't bring her parents back, or Oriana and Oren, or any of the others who had died. To be honest, the thought of returning there now, and facing so much death and destruction, was terrifying.

In the end, what decided it was the weather. Literally overnight, the last vestiges of summer had fled. The sky was overcast, and while it hadn't begun to rain on the mountain, the clouds that hovered above the lowlands were dark and ominous. No doubt, the Bannorn was experiencing its first winter storm, which invariably brought with it flooding and mud and washed out roads. Fergus would be fortunate to stay ahead of it on his way to Ostagar. To try and get the army back to Highever now would be dangerous, perhaps even impossible, until spring.

So she'd merely penned a short letter and sent it with Gwyn: a warning to Fergus to be cautious of any riders that approached, especially if they claimed to be from Amaranthine. She said there were rumors of assassins, which wasn't even close to the truth, but she could hardly tell him what had really happened, not in a letter. That news needed to be delivered face to face. So, she prayed to Andraste that this warning would keep him safe until she caught up with him in Ostagar.

Since then, she had traveled obediently alongside Duncan, and they made good time through the mountains. Since Duncan wasn't particularly talkative, Rhianna set a vigorous pace, pushing her body just hard enough to keep her mind distracted, and stave off the grief that pulled at her, constantly. To his credit, Duncan kept up without complaint.

He would converse with her in the evenings, when they stopped to camp. Sometimes, she asked questions and he would usually answer them, as long as she didn't ask about the Grey Wardens. In spite of the fact she'd been conscripted into the order, he refused to tell her much of anything about them. When he asked questions of her, they seemed carefully chosen as unlikely to trigger unhappy memories. Perhaps that was why he was quiet the rest of the time. It was probably difficult to think of things to talk about, considering Rhianna's family had been killed, her home destroyed, and the only life she had ever known was gone forever. So, she didn't take offense at his lack of conversation during the days.

After all, it wasn't as though she desired further intimacy with the man. She hadn't trusted him the first time they met, that day in the Bannorn after she and Loghain found the burnt-out farm. And now, he'd knocked her out and literally dragged her away from her family so he could claim her for the Grey Wardens, none of which improved her opinion of him.

Still, on the whole, traveling with him was . . . comfortable. He was courteous, but didn't coddle. That was good. If he'd been kind, if he'd tried to comfort her or talk to her about what had happened, she doubted she could have held herself together. So, she was grateful he kept his distance.

Strangely enough, she was grateful for the minor physical discomforts of traveling, as they helped keep her mind distracted, as well. By the second day, without the usual layer of linen between her body and the leather, her skin had chafed beneath her armor. And of course, she stank, of perspiration and dried blood. When they'd stopped that evening, she'd done her best to bathe in the icy waters of the stream beside their camp, but it was uncomfortable and impossible to do a thorough job. Her hair, especially, was troublesome, and afterwards, as she shivered in camp and tried to comb it with her fingers, she realized there was no way this was going to work. It was knotted and dirty and smelled foul.

So she gathered it up in a queue at the back of her neck, and, without thinking about it first, sawed through it with her dagger. 

Afterward, she held more than a foot's length of hair in her hand, and what was left behind didn't quite touch her shoulders. Never before had her hair been this short, not that she could remember. When she shook her head, it felt strange and off-balance, and her breath sped up as tears threatened.

"Rhianna?" There was surprise in Duncan's voice. "I would have done that for you, if I'd known you wanted it cut."

She wasn't able to answer right away; she merely stared at the strands of hair in her hand.

What had she done? She'd always loved her hair. It was one of her best features, and she loved the way it felt under her hands when she brushed it, and how it smelled when it was clean. She loved having other people comb it, or braid it. She'd been so proud of it, and now, just like that, it was gone.

Belatedly, she responded to Duncan's comment. "Thank you, but it's . . . it's all right. I just needed it to be gone. I won't be able to take care of long hair, not while we're traveling like this."

Again, she glanced at the hair still clutched in her hand. Perhaps she could sell it. No doubt, she'd soon need the money.

That was something she'd never worried about before: money. She'd always had as much as she'd needed. Now, she had just the handful of coins that had been tucked into a pouch in her armor, and the jewels she had salvaged from the vault.

Perhaps it wouldn't matter. As a Grey Warden, surely her living expenses would be covered, or she'd receive a stipend, or . . . something. To be honest, she'd always been a bit vague about money.

Either way, it seemed foolish to throw away her hair when it might prove valuable, so she tucked it safely away.

‹›‹O›‹›

Now, in the middle of the night, she studied Duncan's face. He looked haggard, and his eyes were still bright from whatever horrors he had witnessed in that dream. She could see his breath in the cold, and there was no sign of the sky beginning to lighten in the east; it was too early to pack up camp and start traveling.

"Will you be able to get back to sleep?" she asked.

"Eventually, yes. I just need a . . . few minutes to clear my mind." He lay down on his back, and rubbed at his eyes.

Rhianna lay on her side, and propped herself up on one elbow. "Do you want to talk about it? Would that help?"

"I . . . I don't know. Perhaps." He breathed in deeply, and released it with a ragged sigh. "It was the archdemon. Again."

"You dream about the archdemon? Have you ever even seen it?"

His eyes found hers. "Yes. I have seen the archdemon. It's . . . well, you have to understand that these are not merely dreams. Grey Wardens dream of darkspawn - and the archdemon - and sometimes these dreams are real. So yes, I have seen him."

"I don't understand. How can being a Grey Warden have any effect on your dreams?"

He hesitated, and then shook his head, as if to clear it. "I suppose," he began slowly, "there's no harm in telling you a few things. To become a Warden, there is a ritual that gives us certain abilities that allow us to effectively hunt the darkspawn. Along with these gifts, there are side effects. Dreams, for example, that come from the connection that forms between the mind of the Warden, and the minds - collectively - of the darkspawn. When the archdemon 'talks' to the horde, Wardens can hear it too."

Rhianna forced herself not to sit up straighter. This was interesting, and it was the first time Duncan had been willing to answer any of her questions about the Wardens. She didn't want to do anything that might interrupt, or cause him to stop talking.

"That's how I know this is really a blight," he added, "even though the archdemon has not yet appeared on the surface. I hear Urthemiel in my dreams, almost every night, talking to the horde, although I can't understand what he says. Eventually, you'll have dreams like this, too."

Except . . . she'd already dreamt of a dragon.

"Are you sure it's connected to this ritual?"

"Yes. Quite sure." He raised a brow. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just . . ." She chewed at her bottom lip. "It's probably nothing, but not long ago, I had a dream. About a dragon. A huge dragon, under the ground. He tried to talk to me, but I can't remember what he said."

Duncan sat up, and leaned closer. "You dreamt of a dragon? What did it look like?"

"It was enormous. Other than that, I'm not sure? Everything was dark, so far underground. I felt like countless tons of rock pressed down from above. But maybe it was black? Or very dark red, and it had horns on its head, and huge claws."

He studied her face. "How many times did this happen?"

"Just the once, I think, although I'm not sure. Sometimes I have nightmares about being trapped underground. I've had them for years. Most of the time, I don't really remember much about them in the morning, and at first I thought that's what this was – another dream about being locked in a dungeon. So maybe it happened other times, and I just didn't realize."

He continued to study her face, his eyes narrow and thoughtful.

"Do you think it means something?" she asked.

"I don't know." Again, he settled himself on his back.

When he didn't close his eyes, she decided to press her luck, and see if he'd reveal any more about the Wardens. "You said there is a ritual. What sort of ritual?"

He glanced at her, briefly. "You'll find that out soon enough. I've already said more than I should. The Grey Wardens have worked hard to keep these things, and others, secret for many centuries."

"Secret?" All this secrecy was wearing on her patience. "Why is everything so secret? What could be so horrible that you can't tell people before they agree to join?"

He didn't answer, didn't even bother turning his gaze upon her. He just stared up into the sky.

"In any case," she continued, "what does it matter what you tell me? I've been conscripted, haven't I? I don't have any choice but to go through this ritual of yours. Unless you intend to give me a choice after all?"

"No, I don't."

"Then what harm is there in telling me?"

After all, she was being forced into something she had not wanted, to which she had not agreed, but here she was anyway. She could have run away from him in the middle of the night, gone anywhere she liked. Gone to her brother, or Queen Anora in Denerim, or Empress Celene in Orlais. Gone to Ostagar ahead of Duncan and convinced the king to protect her. But here she was, and Duncan still wouldn't answer her questions?

"Are you afraid I'll refuse to go through with it if I know the truth?"

"Yes, actually. I am."

Oh. "How bad can it be?" she murmured. "Isn't it just swearing some sort of oath? Is there a . . . test, of some kind?"

He sighed. "The ritual - we call it the 'Joining' - only takes a few minutes, but there is slightly more to it than swearing an oath. It is this Joining that gives us the abilities that allow us to effectively hunt darkspawn. The Joining is . . . dangerous, and I cannot speak more of it. Please, Rhianna. I know you're curious, and you will know everything, soon enough. Until then, you must trust that everything the Grey Wardens do - the ritual, and the secrecy - is necessary. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Now, as he looked up at the sky, his face had that closed-off look he got when he no longer wanted to talk about Warden business.

She didn't know what else to say, so she lay on her back as well, and took in the view of what looked like a million stars against the dark velvet background of the night sky.

When Duncan spoke, his voice was calm again. "Look there," he said. "It's Andruil."

"Andruil? What's that?"

He leaned close to her, and pointed into the sky. "Do you see that very bright star right there?" He moved his arm slightly to the right. "And the three others that form a sort of square?"

She squinted up at the sky until she saw which stars he meant. "Yes. I see them."

Then he pointed to the right, and up. "And those two stars, and that very bright one there, just above the square? That's Andruil, the elven goddess of the hunt."

"The elves named their own patterns in the sky? I didn't know that. What is Andruil supposed to be, anyway? Is she an elf?"

"She takes the form of a deer," Duncan replied, and traced an imaginary line with his finger. "You see, the square is her body, and those are her legs, and her head is just there."

"Yes, I see. Well, sort of." Star patterns never looked exactly like what they were supposed to be, after all. "I never knew there were elven constellations. I only know the Avvarian ones. Like Sigfost, the Great Bear." She scanned the night sky and found the familiar pattern. "There he is," she pointed, "with his soup ladle for a body."

"Ah, yes," Duncan replied.

"And there is Nathramar, the great serpent." Rhianna pointed to a trio of white stars, and then a dim red one, followed by a curving line of stars that made up the tail of the snake. "Do you know that story? It was Nathramar's battle with Korth the Mountain Father that destroyed a huge mountain that once stood at the center of the world."

"I have heard that story," Duncan replied. "In fact, there are some who think that Loch Kin is what now remains at the site where Belenas once stood. And that it's waters are magical, because they came from the tears of the Lady of the Skies. She was so distraught at the destruction that she wept and wept until the entire crater had been filled."

"Loch Kin?"

"Otherwise known at Lake Calenhad. The very place we're headed."

Rhianna glanced at the Warden commander. "Lake Calenhad once sat at the center of the world? It doesn't seem very central. We're rather at bottom of things here in Ferelden, I should think."

Duncan chuckled. "Well, perhaps things were arranged differently, long ago."

"Perhaps they were," she agreed. "Years ago, Loghain gave me a pendant which was made from . . . well, I guess it was the body of a creature that had turned to stone. An animal that lived many, many hundreds, maybe even thousands of years ago." The memory gave her an ache; that pendant had been tucked away in the false bottom of a chest in her room, and was now gone, along with almost everything else she had ever owned. "He called it an ammonite, and the man who sold it to him said it was a sea creature, but that he'd found the thing at the top of a mountain in the Hunterhorns. Said it was proof that once all of Thedas had been underwater. I suppose if that is true, there's no reason Lake Calenhad couldn't have been the center of the world at some point."

"Indeed."

"Do you know any other elven constellations?" Rhianna asked.

"Let's see . . . ah! There's one. Fen'Harel, the dread wolf."

"The  _dread_  wolf? Is that one of their gods? It sounds rather awful. I take it the elves don't revere wolves the way we do here in Ferelden?"

"I suppose he is somewhat awful. He's also called the Lord of Tricksters, and Bringer of Nightmares. It's said that he betrayed the gods, and managed to trap all of them in their respective realms, so they could no longer influence the people of this world. He trapped the gods of terror and spite known as the Forgotten Ones - which might have been seen as a blessing - but he also trapped the benevolent ones. That, they say, is why Arlathan fell - because the elven gods were locked away and unable to prevent the city from being destroyed."

"Arlathan - that was the city of the elves, in the forests north of Antiva?"

"Yes," Duncan confirmed. "Another place that was known as the 'center of the world,' at one time. At least until humans arrived in Thedas, bringing with them diseases and war. The elves lost their immortality, and eventually Arlathan was destroyed, probably at the hands of the Tevinters - their magic and their dragons. Although no one now knows exactly how - or why - it happened."

"The elves have never had an easy time of things, have they?" Rhianna said, more to herself than to Duncan. "Are there others? Elven gods looking down at us from the sky?"

"There are others, but none I can see at the moment," Duncan replied. "Remind me another time, just after night falls, and we will look for ones that are hidden below the horizon just now."

"I will." As she propped herself up again, she realized that she actually felt . . . all right, for the first time in days. Not happy, but not unhappy, either. "I know a few others I don't see tonight. The Lady of the Skies, who takes the form of a huge swan. And Imhar. He's a trickster as well. I'm not sure he's my favorite, though. I sometimes wonder if he had something to do with King Maric disappearing at sea."

"What's this? What could an Avvarian trickster god have to do with the king's disappearance?"

Rhianna chuckled. "Nothing, probably, and it's just me being foolish. But not long before his ship was diverted from Wycome, and sank north of Seheron, we'd found an amulet buried in the hills near Highever. It had an image of Imhar on it, and was one of the ugliest things I'd ever seen, but Maric liked it, and kept it, and I could never decide if Imhar tried to help Maric when he was lost at sea, or if perhaps Imhar was the one who had caused his troubles in the first place." She shrugged. "I suppose it's more likely that Imhar had absolutely nothing to do with any of it, and it was the Orlesians, or the Antivan Crows, or the Qunari who interfered with Maric's ship. Nothing to do with gods or goddesses whatsoever." She paused. "Certainly nothing to do with the Maker," she muttered to herself. "He never does anything useful."

Duncan looked up at her. "You knew the old king?"

"Yes. King Maric and I were friends. We used to go riding together, and have tea parties at the palace, that sort of thing." Smiling at the memory of one particular tea party years ago, Rhianna lay on her back again, and tried to memorize the patterns Duncan had just shown her.

"And," Duncan continued, "I had the feeling you were well-acquainted with Teyrn Loghain at one time, were you not?"

An awkward question, but of course Duncan would wonder; he'd seen her and Loghain come out of a shared room at an inn in the Bannorn almost a year ago. Rhianna continued to look into the sky, and forced her expression to remain neutral. "Yes. Loghain and I were . . . very close, once upon a time. I haven't seen him since just after the Landsmeet, though." She paused. "Although I suppose I'll see him when we arrive in Ostagar."

Oh. That was a startling thought that hadn't occurred to her until now. A not entirely comfortable thought, but not bad, either.

She would see Loghain again.

What on earth would she say to him? What, if anything, would he have to say to her?

Memories of Loghain began to flood into her mind: the way the sun hit his hair when they were at the top of Teyrn's Peak, and he'd asked her to marry him. His warmth as he wrapped her in his cloak after pulling her out of that dungeon cell. The weight of his body, the feel of his bare skin against hers when they made love . . .

No. No, no, no. She didn't want to think about Loghain right now, nor, Maker forbid, talk about him further with Duncan.

"So," she asked, needing to change the subject, "how did you come to join the Grey Wardens? I assume you've been a Warden for many years?"

"Yes, more than twenty years, now." He fell silent, and turned his head toward her, briefly, but then looked into the sky again. Rhianna thought he meant to ignore the rest of her question, but then he continued. "I was living in Val Royeaux. Not much younger than you are now, come to think of it. Just shy of my eighteenth birthday. I had been living on my own for a while already, and at times it was difficult to make ends meet."

"Living on your own? What happened to your parents?"

"They were dead. My mother had died giving birth to my baby sister, who didn't survive, either. So, for a couple of years it was just my father and I. He did his best to manage without her. He was a carpenter - quite a good one - but I . . . well, I was rather wild. I know I didn't make things easy for him. And then he died, too, taken by the plague, and I had to fend for myself."

"How old were you then?"

"Fifteen. Not so young that I couldn't have found some . . . legitimate way of taking care of myself."

"But you didn't? Find some legitimate way? How did you survive?"

"Picking pockets, mostly."

Rhianna's eyes grew wide. "You were a . . . thief?"

"Yes," he chuckled. "A pickpocket, and a burglar, as well. It was a burglary, in fact, that led me to the Grey Wardens. I'd broken into a room at an inn, thinking I'd be in and out before anyone was the wiser, but the occupant of the room returned before I was finished. We fought over a ring. I knew it was valuable, and needed the coin it would bring; it had been a very hard winter. But he had bought it for the woman he was to marry, and wasn't willing to let me get away with it."

"What happened?" Rhianna asked.

"I killed him."

That was an unexpected revelation.

"I didn't intend to kill him, but I had my dagger at his throat, and . . . well, it hardly matters what my intentions were. The fact is that I slit his throat, and he died. And I ended up in the gallows for his murder."

"Wait." For a moment, she thought she couldn't have possibly heard him correctly. "You were going to be hanged? For murder? How in the world did you end up with the Grey Wardens after that?"

"The night before my execution was to take place, a woman came to my cell. A woman called Genevieve, the Warden Commander of Orlais. She asked me if I wanted to join."

"What? Why would the Grey Wardens want a murderer? I thought the Wardens were all great heroes. That it was an honor to be chosen, and the order only recruited the very best."

"They do. But . . . the Wardens have their own definition of 'best.'"

"Apparently." She found this turn in the conversation unsettling. "So how did an orphaned Orlesian cutpurse qualify for the 'honor' of joining the Wardens?"

"Genevieve sensed in me the qualities that a Grey Warden must possess in order to fight the darkspawn. Some level of ability with weapons, or magic. In my case, I was also quite nimble. And strength, as well. Strength enough to survive what it takes to become a Grey Warden. The same things I sensed in you, the first time we met."

She considered what he had said. "You're talking about this ritual, aren't you? This . . . Joining? Having the strength to withstand it . . . does that mean not everyone survives?"

"That is correct," he admitted.

Whatever brief pleasure she had felt while they talked about the stars was gone.

"So this ritual might kill me?"

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose that explains why you didn't want to talk about it,," she said, her tone deliberately light. The thought frightened her, although perhaps not as much as it should. The ritual might kill her, but would that really be so bad? It wasn't as though she had anything much to live for. Her home was gone, her family, everyone she loved . . . gone.

"Did this commander – Genevieve - did she tell you the truth about it before you agreed to join? That the ritual might kill you?"

"No. She did not tell me the truth about it. Nor did I agree to join."

Rhianna blinked in surprised. "You were on the gallows, and you refused her offer? Why in the world . . .?"

Duncan let out a sigh. "The man I had killed was a Grey Warden. He was, in fact, betrothed to the commander who came to me in my cell. The ring I had stolen was intended for her finger. And just before he died, when he realized I genuinely meant to kill him, he stopped struggling. His last words to me were, 'Thank you.'" Duncan's voice was barely more than a whisper. "And I wondered what sort life he must have had, to thank his murderer."

He fell silent, and Rhianna was at a loss for words. Just what sort of life was it that was being forced upon her?

Finally, she said, "But what of the commander? Why would she spare your life, knowing you killed the man she loved?"

He made a sound, deep in his throat. "I suspect she conscripted me as a punishment. One she considered would be a fate worse than death."

A knot tightened in Rhianna's stomach. "And was it?" she murmured. "A fate worse than death?"

She sensed him turn toward her, but she was afraid to meet his eyes. Afraid of what she might see there. Instead, she continued to look up into the sky.

"No." His voice was calm, and firm. "It was not a fate worse than death. I have seen, and done, more than my share of horrible things, but there has been joy as well, and love, and a great deal of satisfaction. I've had a good life as a Grey Warden. And it is my hope that you will, as well."

Now she turned, and held his gaze. His brow was smooth, his eyes clear. Although he didn't smile, he looked as sincere as she had ever seen him. He really didn't mean this to be a punishment, or a death sentence.

Her breath caught in her throat. Just what would this life bring to her? What did it mean, to be a Grey Warden? There were things she wanted to know, questions she wanted to ask, but there were so many she had no idea where to start. And it seemed likely that Duncan had said as much on the subject as he intended to, for the time being at least.

So, she would continue to do as she'd done these past few days: take each day as it arrived, and try not to worry about how she would face what came next. If this Joining ritual was as dangerous as Duncan suggested, perhaps she wouldn't have to make her way through too terribly many more days.

There was something comforting about that thought.

"That reminds me." He sat up, and dug into one of the pockets in his pack. "I have something I've been meaning to give you . . . if I can find it." He continued to rummage. "Ah ha," he muttered.

He held out his hand; in his palm was a ring, one Rhianna recognized instantly.

Her father's signet ring.

She felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. "Where did you get this?"

"Your father gave it to me, just before I carried you out of the castle. He wanted you to have it. To give to your brother, I suppose. No doubt he'll be the teyrn, eventually."

She reached out, and plucked it from his hand. The metal was cool against her fingers, but the stone - an onyx, as black as a starless night sky - felt slightly warm to the touch. Father always wore this ring, always. She couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it on his finger. And now she held it in her hand, and he was dead and she would never see him again. Never hear his voice again. Never see his eyes light up at the sight of his daughter. Never kiss his wife, when he thought no one was around to see. Never watch his grandson grow into a man, the grandson whose own life had been cut so dreadfully short.

She sobbed once as her vision blurred, and she blinked furiously to fight back the sudden tears. She wouldn't cry. She would not cry.

She wouldn't.

"Thank you." She slipped the ring onto her thumb. She didn't intend to wear it all the time, but for this one night at least she wanted to keep it close.

"You're welcome." He yawned. "I think I might be able to go back to sleep now. Thank you for keeping me company. I feel . . . calmer than I did before."

"You're welcome," she replied. "And thank you for . . . telling me things. Some things, anyway."

He nodded, and turned his back to her as he settled himself in the bedroll.

An almost overwhelming wave of grief washed over her.

Everything had fallen apart. The darkspawn in the south. Highever, destroyed. An archdemon arisen, even if only Grey Wardens could see it, and then only in their dreams. As much as she had suffered at the loss of Loghain, and then Gauvain, those things were easy in comparison to what lay ahead for her now.

She was more alone than she had been at any time in her life. In the past, even when she had felt alone and scared, she had always known there were people there for her, people who loved her. Her family. Loghain. The knowledge that she would never see them again, that they were gone forever, that nothing would bring them back, made her want to stop breathing. She ached inside from missing her father and her mother. The thought of Oren hurt more than she could have ever imagined anything hurting. They were gone, all except Fergus and she was so afraid for him that she didn't like to think about that, either. For all she knew, he was already dead, murdered in the dark of night while the Highever Regulars slumbered around him.

Then, tonight, for those few minutes, she had felt a connection with another person. With Duncan, while he showed her the constellations and told her their stories, and talked to her about Grey Warden secrets. But now, as he turned his back on her, that connection slipped away, and she was overcome with sadness.

She was alone, except for Dane and Gwyn.

And she would need to grow accustomed to this feeling, because the people she loved were never coming back.

Duncan's shoulder rose and fell with each breath, and Rhianna had an urge to reach out to him. She just wanted to be held, to burrow in to another person's warm embrace. She didn't want anything more from him. Not sex, or anything romantic. Nothing more than a few minutes of physical closeness.

Would that be so wrong? To take a tiny bit of comfort where she found it, and perhaps give some comfort in return? If nothing else, her presence might keep Duncan's nightmares at bay.

For the first time, she didn't turn her back on him as she prepared to go to sleep. Instead, she scooted closer and reached her arm across his body.

As though it were a reflex that required no thought on his part, Duncan rolled onto his back, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him. Rhianna rested her face on his chest, and allowed her eyes to close.

His heart beat steadily beneath her cheek, and for those few minutes, as she drifted back to sleep, Rhianna was able to pretend she wasn't completely alone in this world.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, DarkspawnHorror, and Riptide.
> 
> A quick note about where this story is going: I know many of you are eager for Rhianna to get to Ostagar (I'm eager for that, as well – a lot of exciting things are going to happen in Ostagar!), but it's going to be a few chapters yet before that happens. (Four chapters, I think). Rhianna and Duncan still have a few adventures ahead of them, and we'll be meeting some new people, too, along the way. In the spirit of getting us to Ostagar quickly, though, I'm going to try and get these next few chapters posted a bit sooner than my usual schedule (ideally, two per week, if I can manage). Also, I'm going to post something to "Glimpses" very soon, so keep an eye out for that.


	6. A noble lady like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and Duncan visit West Hill.

**_12 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
West Hill_ **

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From the time it was built in the Towers Age, West Hill's position on the Waking Sea made it an ideal place from which to watch for pirates. During the height of threats from the sea - marauding corsairs from Orlais and beyond during the Storm Age - thousands of people inhabited the huge warren of tunnels and towers. Calenhad, long before he was king, had an important victory here in the Exalted Age, and in 8:99 Blessed, one of the most devastating losses of Maric's rebellion was fought here.

Now, however, West Hill was only a shadow of the grand fortress it had once been. Only a few hundred people lived here, and much of it was no longer in use. It was dark and dismal, all musty hallways and abandoned towers. Unsurprisingly, it was also rumored to be haunted, a rumor Rhianna could well believe.

In spite of its proximity to Highever, Rhianna had done her best to avoid West Hill over the years, and had only been inside the walls a few times. As they approached the huge metal gates, she was apprehensive.

"I hope this isn't a mistake. Do you think Howe's men are still looking for me? They've had plenty of time to ride ahead. What if they're waiting for us in the fortress, with some plan to try and trap us?"

"I've no doubt they'll be waiting for us," Duncan replied. "Howe will have to manufacture some story about what happened in Highever, so he won't want you running around with full knowledge of the truth. Even so, I don't see that we have much choice. You need gear, we're running low on other supplies, and it's another four days to Kinloch Hold."

"That's true. I suppose if nothing else it will be good to sleep in a bed for one night. Assuming we can stay the night?" She gave him a hopeful glance.

"Yes, I thought we'd spend one night in the inn. There is an inn, I trust?"

"Just one, as far as I know. This isn't a popular tourist destination. It's rather horrible really. Have you been here before?"

"No, I've never been inside the city walls. I've only ridden past."

"Well, you'll see. It's incredibly dreary. But I won't mind spending the night, so long as they'll fill a tub with hot water for me. I can't think of anything that would be more welcome right now than a proper bath."

"Fair enough," Duncan chuckled. "Who controls West Hill?"

"Franderel is the name of the bann. I don't know him very well. He's one of my father's vassals-" She caught herself. "I mean, he  _was_  one of my father's vassals. But he spends most of his time in Denerim. Chances are he's not even here in the city, and even if he were, I wouldn't feel comfortable going to him for assistance."

"That's unfortunate. It would have been good to find some support here."

They passed through the main gates to find the fortress city much as Rhianna remembered. Under the overcast sky, the city appeared grey and brown, and the earlier rains had left everything damp and drafty, dingy and slightly malodorous.

Rhianna was glad they wouldn't be staying long.

Once in town, they went straight to the market square, wanting to make sure they bought what they needed before the shopkeepers closed up for the night. Rhianna found a wigmaker to buy the queue of hair she'd lopped off with her dagger, and bought some new clothes - shirts, trousers, a warm cloak, a linen nightgown, and garments to wear under her armor. She didn't bother with a proper gown; it seemed unlikely she would need one anytime soon. If this was to be a war, she'd just live in her armor. She also bought herself a backpack and a bedroll, so she and Duncan would no longer have to share one at night, as well as a set of lock picks.

As they shopped, she kept an eye on the people nearby; so far, no one appeared to be paying her any special attention, and there were no faces she recognized, or soldiers in Amaranthine livery.

After she'd bought the necessities, and the one luxury she'd allowed herself - the nightgown - Rhianna wandered into the armorer's shop and looked at the selection of weapons. There was a bow that felt incredibly good in her hands, made of whitewood, and crafted unlike anything she'd seen before.

"That looks to be of elven make," Duncan commented when he saw it. "Made by the Dalish, I should think."

"How in the world did a Dalish longbow find its way here?" Rhianna mused aloud. She raised the weapon, and pulled back the bowstring as if she had an arrow nocked. It pulled smoothly in her hands, as though she'd be able to shoot faster than ever before. Unfortunately, she'd spent nearly all her coin, and wasn't ready to start selling off the jewels she'd taken from the family treasury. So, she suppressed a small sigh, and handed it back to the merchant.

"Do you want that?" Duncan asked. "I seem to recall you did well with a bow when you and Teyrn Loghain fought darkspawn in the Bannorn."

Rhianna shrugged. "I don't need it."

"I didn't ask if you need it. Do you want it?"

She glanced at him, and he lifted a brow.

"Yes. I suppose I do."

Duncan paid for the bow, along with some of the other things they needed, and Rhianna was cheered by the new weapon in her hands. She was good with a bow, after all, in spite of all Loghain's protestations of her laziness.

Loghain.

After the thought occurred to her the previous night, she could not stop thinking about the fact that he would be at Ostagar. No matter how much she tried to put him behind her, she just couldn't. She still loved him, although it no longer ached quite as badly as it once had. She was fairly certain she would never completely stop loving him, not after having him in her heart for such a long time.

The prospect of seeing him again was daunting. It had been a whole year. A year in which she had heard nothing from him, had no word, no letter. Nothing at all, from the man who had been her best friend for years, and, briefly, her lover. She did want to see him. Of course she wanted to see him. Surely, there would never come a time when she would not want to see him. Even so, she was nervous, and perhaps a bit frightened. He didn't love her. That much, she had accepted. But what if he wanted nothing to do with her at all? What if he was cold toward her, or turned away, unwilling even to talk? That would break her heart all over again.

Perhaps it would be better to keep her distance, and just not speak to him at all. That should be easy enough, considering how many people were at Ostagar, but the thought of deliberately avoiding him hurt almost as much as any of the other options.

She let out a breath. There was no need to decide right now; she had another few weeks before she would need to face that hurdle.

As soon as she and Duncan bought all the supplies they needed, they found the inn. It was ancient and dimly lit inside, but appeared clean, and the innkeeper was friendly. Rhianna still hadn't seen any sign of soldiers who appeared to be in Howe's command; then again, they wouldn't wear their shields if they were hoping not to be noticed.

Rhianna and Duncan sat at a table in the corner as they waited for their food to be served. There wasn't much business in the tavern; probably, it was like this most nights considering how few people lived in West Hill, and that fewer still ever came to visit. How was it a place like this managed to survive?

Still, that it had survived seemed a good thing. It might be needed again, perhaps in the all-too-near future. The fortress was still sound, and if the darkspawn managed to break through the king's armies . . .

No. That was a thought that didn't bear finishing.

Was this was it meant to be a Grey Warden? Always thinking of the worst-case scenario, always thinking about new ways to defeat the ever-present enemy?

Perhaps there were even Wardens who looked forward to what was happening in Ferelden. After all, four hundred years had passed since the last Blight. Were there Wardens who had never even seen darkspawn? Probably not. The darkspawn had always been there, under the ground and probably on the surface from time to time. No doubt the Wardens had contact with darkspawn all along; it was just the rest of us who never saw them, and were allowed to live in blissful ignorance.

Those days were over for Ferelden.

The food they had ordered arrived, but before Rhianna could take her first bite, a man approached the table. He looked vaguely familiar, but she wasn't sure if she'd met him before, or if he merely resembled someone else she knew.

He certainly acted as though he knew her; without any hesitation, or a pause to ask permission, he slid into one of the empty chairs at their small table. He was tall, with tanned skin and sandy brown hair pulled back in a short queue. His clothes - a simple shirt and trousers – were not of fine quality, nor particularly shabby, and gave no clue to his profession. He had no visible weapon, which seemed a good thing, and after having a good look at him, Rhianna was certain she'd never spoken with him before.

"You are Rhianna Cousland, yes?"

"I am." So much for getting in and out of town unrecognized.

"Good. I'm glad I found you." He leaned close. "There's something you should know. Howe's men are here, in West Hill. They intend to wait outside the city for you, and ambush you when you leave. The guard won't tolerate them attacking inside the fortress, but as soon as you are back on the road, they'll come after you."

"On the road to the south?"

"In both directions. They don't want to take any chances of you getting away. Apparently, the arl was not at all pleased that you escaped in the first place."

This was hardly a surprise. Of course, it was possible this might be part of some plan to get her to drop her guard, or give away some detail that might lead her into a trap.

"I don't believe you and I have met before. So, who are you, to be so concerned for my welfare?"

"My uncle asked me to come and find you. He's the baker in Highever."

"Garrick sent you?"

"Yes." The man lifted a brow. "I didn't expect you to know who he was, a noble lady like you. He said you would, but I didn't believe him."

"Of course I know Garrick. I've known him all my life." Her stomach churned. "Did something happen in Highever, outside of the castle? Did Howe's men attack the town, as well?"

"No, I wouldn't say they attacked the town. Not exactly. But when they discovered that you'd escaped, they searched Highever, everywhere they thought you might be hiding. And anyone known to be friendly with you was searched rather vigorously." He chuckled once, a sound devoid of mirth. "Which, of course, was half the town."

"What about your uncle, and Maude? They're all right, I hope."

"My aunt is fine, and my uncle . . . well, he was injured, but nothing too serious. He'll recover. His shop was burned down, though, and he's gone into hiding, for now anyway. A lot of the people in the city have done the same. Howe's soldiers were . . . enthusiastic in their dealings with some of the townspeople. Especially those who tried to stand up, those who spoke out against what had been done to your family, once word got out about the . . . well, you know."

Maker's balls. People she knew had suffered on her behalf. Tears threatened, but she forced them back, as she had done countless times over the past few days.

"You don't live in Highever. I would have known you."

"No, I live in Kirkwall. I just happened to be in Highever for a visit with my uncle. After everything that happened, he begged me to come here, and keep an eye out for you in case you made your way through. The blacksmith even loaned me a horse, so I had a chance of getting here ahead of you. You are beloved, my lady, by the people of Highever."

"Maker bless them," Rhianna whispered, more to herself than to the young man seated beside her. "And you as well, ser. What's your name?"

"I'm Gerard."

"Thank you, Gerard."

"Well, I'd best go. Probably they're watching, and I should try and get myself somewhere safe."

"I'd offer for you to stay with us, but chances are you'll be better off on your own."

"Yes, my lady. I expect you're right about that." He stood. "Be careful in leaving the city. My uncle has always spoken highly of you. So, just . . . take care." He bowed his head briefly, and strode out of the tavern without looking back.

"That was interesting." Duncan leaned forward, so they could speak softly and not risk being overheard.

"Yes, it was. I suppose it's good to know our paranoia wasn't unfounded. Although I don't like the thought that we'll need to watch our backs constantly while traveling on the road."

"Once we're through the mountains, they probably won't expect us to stop at Kinloch Hold, and they might be thrown off our trail."

Rhianna nodded. "And once we get to Ostagar, and tell the king what happened, Howe won't have any reason to try and hunt us down. Well, you should be safe, at least." She bit her lower lip. "When I look back at the way Rendon Howe was with me over the years, the things he said, I've come to the conclusion that he hates me, and probably always has. I suspect he'll want me dead even if it doesn't help get him out of trouble. Of course, I don't think there's anything that will get him out of this trouble, once Cailan knows what happened."

"You have a great deal of faith in the king."

"I suppose I do." That was a strange thought, given what had happened during the past year. For all his faults, and for all she had lost faith in him for things he had done, in this regard she believed him entirely trustworthy. "He is a good man in many ways. He'll be outraged by this, and do whatever needs to be done to bring Howe to justice. Cailan won't allow something like this to just happen without any consequence."

"Yes, the king strikes me as that sort of person. I'm grateful for the way he responded to the darkspawn threat, particularly when there are a fair few others who refuse to believe the darkspawn pose  _any_  significant threat." He took a sip of his ale. "Is there any way out of this fortress other than through the main gates?"

"I'm not aware of one, but I don't know the city very well. I imagine there are tunnels underneath that lead Maker's knows where, but I don't know anything about them." She leaned close. "Perhaps we should sneak out in the middle of the night. When they won't be expecting us to leave?"

"Yes, I was thinking along those lines as well." One corner of his mouth turned up. "But what about your bath?" Had he meant that as a joke? That was unusual. He wasn't really a humorous sort of person.

"Who says I can't have a bath before we leave? After all, it's far too early for us to think about sneaking out just yet, and I have no intention of wasting this opportunity."

He grinned at her, and she felt her face break into a smile. It was one of the first she'd had since . . . well, one of the first she'd had in days, and it almost hurt, at the corners of her mouth.

While finishing their meal, they agreed to try and find a way out that didn't involve either the front or the rear gates. They would look for some sort of less used entrance, and if they didn't find anything, they would go over the walls. After all, the fortress had been built to keep people out, not in. Scaling down the wall shouldn't pose much of a problem. Not for Rhianna, at any rate, and Duncan hadn't balked at the idea, so she assumed he'd be able to manage as well. Dane would need to find his own way out, if it came to that, but most likely a lone mabari wouldn't attract much attention.

Rhianna sketched a map of what she remembered of the city from where they'd gone today, as well as her memory of previous visits, and they outlined a route that seemed likely to lead them somewhere that would be useful.

Once they finished their meal. Rhianna did have her bath, behind a screen in the room that she and Duncan would have shared if they had actually spent the whole night. While she soaked in the tub, he napped on the bed, while Dane stretched out nearby on the floor. Rhianna allowed herself to relax, as much as she was able.

Damn Rendon Howe. He'd gone after people in Highever - people she knew, people who were her friends. It was good to know that Garrick was safe, although it sounded as though he'd lost just about everything. Was the same true for everyone else she'd known who lived in the city?

Fury washed over her. Why? Why would Howe do any of this?

He and her father were supposed to have been friends. They'd known one another for more than thirty years, they'd fought together, they'd visited one another's homes countless times, they'd raised their children side by side. What could have caused him to turn on an entire family like this? An entire city? Rhianna's mother said Howe was jealous, but to kill everyone in the castle, and attack innocent townspeople? That was an extreme reaction to feeling jealous. After the Rebellion, the man had kept his family's arling, for crying out loud. What more did he want?

And now, her family was dead, and the people of Highever were in danger, and she had no idea how she was ever going to fix things. Especially since she now belonged to the Grey Wardens.

But she  _would_  fix things. Someday, Howe would pay for what he'd done. When Rhianna came face to face with him again – which would happen, Grey Warden or no - she would challenge him and they would duel, and she would win.

What would she say to him when that happened? Would she curse him? Probably. Would she ask him why? No, not that. She didn't want to hear some deluded explanation for something that was truly inexplicable. And how would she kill him? Would she do it slowly, so she could watch him writhe in pain, listen to his screams? Make him beg her to stop and then laugh in his face?

No.

As appealing as those things sounded now, when she was still consumed by anger and grief, when the time came, she would kill him quickly. There would be no laughter, no glee over his suffering. She would merely drive her blade into his belly, and watch quietly as he bled to death at her feet.

Of course, first things first: she and Duncan needed to find a way out of this dreary fortress without being murdered.

She slid down into the water and submerged herself completely, and washed what was left of her hair. It did feel good to be thoroughly warm, and clean, to have all the blood washed from her skin. She rubbed at the scar where the arrow had pierced her belly. It no longer hurt, but the edges were rough and lumpy, and it was reddish and darker than the skin that surrounded it. Every time she looked at it, for the rest of her life, she would be reminded of what happened that night.

Of course, it's not as though she would ever forget that night, scar or no.

When the water was no longer warm, she climbed out of the tub, dried herself, and reluctantly dressed in her leathers once again. The nightgown she'd bought for herself would have to wait. The bed did look comfortable; it was a pity she would not be able to take advantage of it tonight, but she suspected Duncan would not want the delay. So, she pulled on her boots, and gently shook Duncan awake. It was late enough now that they should be able to leave the tavern undetected, and try and find a way out of the city.

Getting out of the inn was a simple task. Duncan proved adept at staying in the shadows as they followed the route Rhianna had outlined in her crudely drawn map. They snuck into one of the abandoned towers - one that appeared to have been a guard tower at some point in the past - and made their way down. Duncan carried a torch to light their way as Rhianna made notations on her map and tried to keep her bearings.

As they descended, Rhianna had to push away her discomfort, as the walls began to feel too close, and the darkness too thick. There was something about the stonework that reminded her of the tower in Denerim, all those years ago, and her heart beat faster. She was grateful for Duncan's presence, and Dane's, but the single torch made her nervous. What if a draught of wind blew it out? Or if Duncan stumbled, and dropped it?

She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. To push back the panic that bloomed in her stomach, and threatened to move up into her chest. Dane was close at her side, and pressed his nose into the palm of her hand. She smiled down at him, grateful for the gesture.

After following a few passages that led to dead ends, or to stairs that spiraled much farther down than they needed to go, they found a locked door that Rhianna hoped would lead outside, based on her hastily sketched map. She put her ear to the door, and heard nothing on the other side - neither voices, nor anything that indicated there was open air beyond. The lock was ancient, but free of rust and grime, as though it had been used regularly, and perhaps fairly recently.

"Shall we see where it goes?" she asked.

"Might as well," Duncan agreed.

She tried the handle, but the door was locked. Duncan began to search one of the pockets of his pack, but before he'd found whatever it was he was searching for, Rhianna had picked the lock.

Duncan arched a brow. "How did the daughter of a teyrn learn a skill like that?"

"I was locked away once, when I was small. In an abandoned guard tower not unlike this one." She glanced up at the ceiling, as discomfort bubbled up inside her again. "It was cold, and completely dark, and apparently I very nearly died. Afterwards, I taught myself to pick locks, so I wouldn't have to worry about being trapped like that ever again."

"How old were you?"

"Eight."

He frowned. "And how did you get out?"

"Loghain found me, and carried me home."

Most of her memories of that night were vague: impressions of utter darkness and dripping water and a kitten's soft fur. Some things, though, were sharp and clear in her mind. Loghain's voice from the other side of the door, his hand taking the key from her. How she'd been blinded by the torchlight, but then she blinked, and his face came into view, and then she was in his arms, and he was warm and strong and she knew she was safe. Never in the whole of her life had she felt as safe as in that moment.

A wave of grief washed over her. If only he were here. She would have done anything to feel his arms around her again.

She squeezed her eyes shut, to push back the memory of the girl she had been. A girl who had believed she would always be safe, and loved.

How wrong she had been.

She blinked and pushed open the door. A cool breeze hit her cheek and she found herself looking out over the Waking Sea. They were still some distance above the ground, but there was a narrow walkway that ran along the wall, and what looked like stairs that led down at the far end.

A sound of pleasure left her throat, from the success of finding a way out, yes, but mostly from being able to step away from the oppressive darkness of the tower.

"Well done," Duncan murmured.

Within a few minutes they had reached the bottom, and began to pick their way along the rocky cliff face upon which the fortress had been built. The moon was up, but it was waning and less than a quarter visible, and provided just enough light for them to see their footing, without being too terribly bright. It would have been easier to navigate in daylight, but Rhianna was grateful for the cover the darkness provided.

Not far from the end the stairs they had descended, Rhianna noticed a small trail that led farther down the cliff, to a strip of beach. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of trying to leave by sea, but there were no boats in sight, not even moored offshore.

They made their way around the fortress, and back onto the main road.

"Is there any other way through these mountains?" Duncan asked.

"No. Not really. Not until we get down into the foothills. And we have at least one group of Howe's men waiting for us already, between here and there, assuming Garrick's nephew was telling the truth."

"I've no doubt it was the truth," Duncan replied. "Hopefully they're camped, and not particularly alert."

"Do you suggest we try and sneak by them?"

"Actually, depending on how many there are, we might be better with a surprise attack. I would rather not have them on our heels the rest of the way to Ostagar. If we can take them out while they're sleeping, that would make our lives much easier."

It would indeed. Of course, there was also the risk of being injured, or killed.

"That's fine with me," Rhianna replied.

They traveled through the night, not speaking at all, so they could listen for any sign of Howe's assassins, and not make any sound that might alert those assassins to their approach.

Not long before dawn, they reached a point in the road that seemed an obvious place to stage an ambush. The road narrowed as it went through a particularly steep section of the mountain, leaving a ravine with nearly vertical sides, and nowhere to escape.

The three companions moved as silently as possible, trusting the darkness to hide them from the eyes of any night watch. With the moon barely a sliver, it was extremely dark, especially once they entered the ravine.

When they were nearly through the narrow pass, Duncan put a hand on her arm and pointed at the top of the rock ledge above them. At first, she saw nothing, but then there it was: a glint of light. Moonlight on metal armor. One of Howe's men.

Rhianna considered trying to shoot him from here, but it was so dark she couldn't be certain of her aim. Best to wait and see if they found a better vantage point. Besides, before they made any attack, they needed to be certain they weren't ridiculously outnumbered.

When they came out of the pass, the road turned to the left, and as they followed the curve around, they found the rest of Howe's soldiers camped directly in the middle of the road, with the remnants of a fire smoldering in a makeshift pit.

Those smug bastards weren't even trying to hide themselves.

There appeared to be six prone figures, plus the guard they had seen. There was probably at least one more person awake and keeping watch on the opposite side of the ravine, which made eight. Not wonderful odds, but assuming they could get the jump on them before they realized what was happening, Rhianna was willing to give it a try.

After all, what was the worst that could happen? She could get killed. Considering the life that loomed ahead of her right now, the thought didn't trouble her overmuch.

Wordlessly, she and Duncan gestured a plan of attack to one another. Rhianna would use her bow to take out the guard they had spotted; from this angle, she could see him more clearly, and with any luck she could drop him without making much noise at all. Then she would look for the other guard standing watch, while Duncan and Dane took out as many of the sleeping soldiers as possible before the men realized they were under attack.

Keeping to the shadows, Duncan moved around the edge of the camp with Dane close behind, and when they were in position, Rhianna let loose an arrow. It hit on target, directly through the guard's neck, but he managed to make a horrible, gurgling cry as he fell to the ground.

A confused shout echoed against the cliff walls, and then the muffled sounds of Duncan and Dane's attack. Rhianna sprinted across the road, and spotted the other guard easily; he'd come to the edge when the first guard cried out. Rhianna shot at him, but the arrow glanced off his armor. When he took aim at her, she waited half a breath and rolled out of the way as he fired. She managed to avoid the arrow as it thunked into the ground nearby, then she leapt up and fired again. This time, her arrow hit him in the shoulder and knocked him back out of view. It was almost certainly not a fatal shot, but if it kept him occupied for even a few minutes, that would help.

Because the rest of the soldiers were awake.

She dropped her bow, and drew her sword and dagger. Duncan and Dane had killed two of the soldiers, and wounded a third. Rhianna managed to sneak up and slit the throat one of the guards, as he attacked Dane. That, however, drew the attention of the others.

"It's the Cousland whore!" one of them shouted, and three guards turned and rushed at her.

Her speed served her well, and she managed to avoid their attacks. One of them went down with a well-placed strike from her longsword, and Dane hamstrung another, a woman who fell to the ground and clutched at her leg. As Rhianna leapt out of the way of a two-handed axe, she saw Duncan get knocked sideways and fall to his knees, but she didn't have time to look more closely before she had to parry another attack.

A burning stab of pain exploded in her left arm, and she cried out. She'd been hit by an arrow; the guard atop the ravine was back in action. She had a more immediate problem, though, as the man wielding the axe came at her yet again. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she dodged his attack and then closed the distance between them. When she slid her dagger under the edge of his leather armor and into his belly, he screamed and collapsed as the axe fell harmlessly to the ground with a metallic clatter. Dane knocked another guard backward into the dirt and tore out the man's throat before pouncing on the woman who still struggled to climb to her feet, in spite of her ruined leg. She was dead within moments.

Only one guard was left standing. He charged at Duncan, who was still on his knees. With a grunt of exertion, Duncan drove the pommel of his sword into the dirt in front of him and angled the blade forward. The guard's eyes grew wide as he saw his mistake, but he couldn't stop himself from being impaled on Duncan's sword.

Something whistled by Rhianna's ear: another arrow from the guard atop the ravine. She ran to retrieve her bow, and nocked an arrow with incredible speed; this bow was amazingly better than any she had fired before.

She took aim and loosed the arrow, but it glanced off his armor.

"Maker's balls!" She fired again; this time, it flew straight and true into the archer's neck. He stumbled forward and fell from the cliff to land on the road with a wet thud.

Rhianna surveyed the scene around her. Dane was at her side, and appeared uninjured. Duncan, with an arrow protruding from his shoulder, was on his feet and walking toward her. Everyone else lay dead or dying on the ground.

She let out a breath.

Good.

They deserved no better.

But . . . was that really true?

None of these men had made the decision to attack and kill; Rendon Howe had done that. They were just following orders. And who knows what they had been told? "The Cousland whore." No doubt, that had come straight from Howe, as well. Perhaps these soldiers had been led to believe Rhianna deserved to die.

If that was true, they probably didn't deserve the deaths she had given them. Even so, she wasn't about to sit still and allow them to kill her.

The small wave of guilt that washed over her ebbed away again quickly.

"You're injured." Duncan's tone was matter-of-fact. Without hesitation, he grasped her elbow, and, before she realized what he intended to do, he pulled the arrow out of her arm. She cried out and panted through the pain. The wound seeped blood, but with a poultice, it would heal nicely.

"Thank you," she said, once she'd caught her breath. "Shall I do the same for you?"

"Please." He knelt on one knee so she could reach the arrow. It had gone in at an angle just beneath the edge of his cuirass, and was embedded quite deep. He'd been fortunate in where it hit; an inch or two higher and he would likely be dead.

She grasped the arrow, pulled it out, and pressed her hand over the wound to staunch the flow of blood. Duncan had poultices, thankfully, and within a very few minutes, they had bandaged one another's wounds, and searched the bodies for anything of value.

Apparently, these soldiers had been paid, and well; Rhianna filled an entire pouch with the coins she salvaged. Good thing, too; no doubt the coin would prove useful.

Together, Rhianna and Duncan dragged the bodies to the side of the road, but made no attempt to hide them, or obscure the signs of battle.

"These men will be found, sooner or later, no matter how well we hide them," Duncan said. "Perhaps leaving them like this will send Howe a message that we do not intend to make easy targets of ourselves."

Rhianna nodded. The sky had begun to lighten in the east, and Rhianna was exhausted. It seemed foolish, though, to even consider stopping to rest.

"With any luck, we'll have the better part of the day before more of Howe's men come this way, and realize we've gotten past their ambush. If we just keep going, we might be able to make it far enough by the afternoon to take an alternate route through the mountains."

"That's fine with me," Duncan agreed, and the three companions headed up the road, away from West Hill.

There was something soothing about the steady, rhythmic pace of walking after the frenetic activity of battle. Soon the sun peeked up over the nearby mountains and washed the sky in beautiful shades of pink and orange and yellow. Never before had Rhianna seen such a beautiful sunrise.

Whatever storms plagued the Bannorn, they had not managed to cross the mountains, and as the sky brightened to a clear, cloudless blue, Rhianna found herself smiling. It was good to be outdoors, as the warmth of the sun and the cool autumn breeze combined to warm her hair and her shoulders without causing her to swelter. There was also something satisfying about having escaped the fortress and thwarted Howe's miserable ambush.

Somehow, this combination of things buoyed her mood, and for a few hours at least, she felt something that could almost be called content.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my lovely beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my wonderful reviewers: DarkspawnHorror, Irish_Changeling, Riptide and KatDancer. 
> 
> Next stop: Kinloch Hold. :)


	7. Another way out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and Duncan visit the Circle of Magi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a Trigger Warning; see the End Notes for details.

_**16 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
** _ _**Kinloch Hold** _

‹›‹O›‹›

With a sigh of pleasure, Rhianna slid further into the tub. The water had been heated by magic in an instant and scented with fragrant oils, and it felt wonderful.

It was the second such bath she'd taken in the past twelve hours. Not long after she and Duncan had arrived at Kinloch Hold the previous evening, she'd washed away the grime and sweat of four days of travel. This morning, however, she bathed purely for the pleasure to be had by soaking in the deliciously hot water.

They'd managed to avoid encounters with more of Howe's men during the time it took them to travel here, and when they arrived at the small settlement on the shores of Lake Calenhad, Rhianna, Duncan and Dane soon found themselves on a boat. The wind was chill as they slid smoothly through the dark waters of the lake, rowed across by a man called Kester who was friendly and talkative, and spent most of the journey telling them about the history of the area. Rhianna had stared at the spire of Kinloch Hold, which stretched almost impossibly high into the darkening sky. Perhaps she would be allowed to climb the tower; the view from the top would be spectacular.

When they arrived in a large cavern at the base of the tower, an unsmiling templar approached them as they stepped off the boat.

"State your business."

"I am Duncan, Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden. I'm here to speak with First Enchanter Irving."

"Wait here." The templar turned and went up a flight of stone steps. Kester didn't get out of the boat, nor did he begin the journey back to shore; perhaps it was his habit to wait until he was certain visitors would not be denied entrance into the tower.

A few minutes later, an elf in mage's robes came down the stairs to greet them. She was slight of build, with warm olive skin, delicate features, and long, dark hair that hung halfway down her back.

"Welcome to Kinloch Hold." A warm smile lit up her brown eyes. "My name is Neria, and I understand you have come to see the First Enchanter. Unfortunately, he is unavailable at the moment. One of the apprentices is going through her Harrowing tonight. You are, however, more than welcome to spend the night, and Irving will be able to meet with you tomorrow, if this is acceptable?"

"Yes," Duncan replied. "We would appreciate that."

Neria nodded at Kester, and he untied the rope that tethered him to the dock, and prepared to return to shore.

"So," Neria gestured toward the stairs, "if you'll please follow me, I'll show you to your quarters for the night." They climbed the dimly lit steps, and into the entry hall of the tower. Neria smiled and nodded at the templars they passed, all of whom returned the greeting with at least a nod, but Rhianna saw no one else yet who looked like a wielder of magic.

"You said someone is going through something called a Harrowing," Rhianna began. "What is that?"

"It's the test that everyone born with magical ability must go through before becoming a full member of the Circle."

"What sort of test?"

"I'm afraid I am not allowed to disclose the details," she explained, sounding genuinely regretful. "But it's a way of ensuring that a mage is strong enough to withstand the temptation of the demons that inhabit the Fade. Strong enough to avoid becoming an abomination."

At the end of the entry hall stood a huge set of double doors. Beyond them, in the tower proper, they walked along a curved hallway past rooms that appeared to be dormitories. Here, there were mages huddled together, whispering, and glancing nervously around. All of them looked quite young and completely harmless, unlike the heavily armed and armored templars who guarded them.

It was quiet in the tower, as though everyone was in the habit of speaking in hushed tones, and the air was cool. Chilly even. While this was to be expected from an ancient stone building, there was something more to it than that, something about the quality of the light that lacked warmth. The halls were lit by torches, just like in Highever Castle, but somehow the light didn't penetrate all the way into the corners. The shadows seemed darker than usual, as though the light was too timid to travel far from its source. It was uncomfortable and somewhat nerve wracking, as though the building was holding its breath waiting for some tragedy to strike.

Waiting for tragedy to strike? That was ridiculous, wasn't it? This was nothing more than Rhianna's imagination running away with her. Probably because she'd never had much experience with mages. The only ones she'd ever known were Geoffrey and Jocelyn, and they'd always been friendly, but of course all the stories one heard were about abominations and demons and whole villages murdered. It was difficult not to be frightened of an entire tower filled with people who held that sort of power.

Or perhaps it was the templars who were frightening, and not the mages at all. Certainly, Rhianna was accustomed to armed guards standing watch, but the guards in Highever, even at the palace in Denerim, had smiled and offered friendly greetings. Here, the templars stood perfectly erect and silent, with deep scowls on their faces, except for those who wore helmets, and were even more intimidating as a result.

In any case, she didn't like it here. The atmosphere made her uncomfortable and a bit itchy to have her dagger in her hand. Dane seemed not to like it, either; he stuck close to her side, and his ears were forward, and twitched slightly, as though trying to pick up any sound that might indicate danger.

To think that mages spent their entire lives here made her shudder. Even after five minutes, Rhianna knew she would hate being forced to live here, especially with the eyes of the templars following her wherever she went.

Neria led them all the way around the tower, through the most amazing library Rhianna had ever seen. It was one enormous room, separated into three wings, with shelves that extended at least thirty feet high, all packed solidly with books. There were more people here, as well: mages sitting and reading, or browsing the shelves; apprentices paying rapt attention as an enchanter filled a slate board with arcane scrawls; templars, of course, but they seemed somewhat more relaxed than the ones in the hallways. And more books than Rhianna could have imagined existed in all of Thedas. Here, for the first time, she felt some sense of calm.

They passed through without stopping, and Neria led them up the stairs that led to the second floor of the tower. The mages on the second floor looked older, and less unsure of themselves, but the atmosphere was still hushed and vaguely tense. Neria hadn't gone far down the hallway before she stopped and indicated a pair of rooms, side by side.

"Here are your rooms," she said. "I hope you'll find them comfortable. You are welcome to go anywhere you like on this floor, or the one below. All I ask is that you refrain from opening any locked doors. Further down the hallway there is a chapel you are welcome to use, and of course you saw the library downstairs. I'll make sure food is brought up to you shortly. Is there anything else you need at the moment?"

"Not that I can think of," Duncan replied. "Everything appears to be quite comfortable. Thank you."

"You're more than welcome. If you do think of anything, or have questions, please inform one of the templars and they will find me. Enjoy your evening."

When Neria had walked away, Rhianna discovered that the room she'd been offered was lovely. It had a huge bed, a sitting area with sofas, a desk and vanity, and shelves filled with books. Best of all, a huge metal bathtub was tucked away behind a partial wall.

After examining their quarters, Rhianna and Duncan decided to return to the library. An hour later, dinner had been served to them in Duncan's bedchamber, and when the dishes had been cleared away, a young apprentice came to heat water for Rhianna's bath. Warm and clean and calmed by the herbs and scented oils in the bath, as well as a glass of exceedingly good port, Rhianna slept better than she had in ages.

This morning, she had asked again for water for a bath, and her hosts had been happy to provide it. Now, she soaked in the hot water while Dane slept in the corner where she could see him, and he could see the door to her room.

Both the water and the scent were soothing, and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax fully for the first time in days. As uncomfortable as she found the atmosphere of the Circle Tower, at least she wasn't worried that Howe's soldiers were going to burst through the door and try to murder her. And, once she got used to the quiet, she rather liked it. It had been quite peaceful to sit in the library and read undisturbed. The library at Highever had never been truly quiet, between her tutor and apprentices and fosterlings running about. Not that she'd minded at the time, of course; she loved the library in Highever. Her favorite book had been "The Dragons of Tevinter" by Brother Timious, which had all sorts of wild theories about dragons and darkspawn and how they were connected. Although, after what Duncan told her about dreaming of the archdemon, some of those theories didn't seem quite so wild.

Had it been the archdemon she'd dreamt of? That seemed impossible - she wasn't a Grey Warden yet, and hadn't gone through this Joining of theirs, so how could she have dreamt of him? But what if it had been the archdemon?

If only she could remember what he had said. She had an impression that most of it was intelligible, but that at the very end, he asked for help. It frightened her, a bit, the thought of having a creature so purely evil in her head. And also, perhaps, that a creature so huge and powerful might ask a young girl for help.

Would she dream of him again after this ritual?

There was a metallic "click" from the direction of the hallway, and a jarringly loud bang of wood against stone.

Maker's balls. From where she soaked in the tub, behind the partial wall, she couldn't see the door, but it was easy enough to guess that someone had opened the door to Rhianna's bed chamber.

Could Howe's men have found her, here? Surely, that wasn't possible. Even if they knew she was in the tower, how could they gain access? Unless they'd lied and said they were here with news about her family. She had no way of knowing how far word of the massacre had traveled yet.

Dane leapt to his feet and put himself between his mistress and the intruder, and crouched low with his teeth bared. A menacing growl rumbled deep in his throat, and from Dane's mind she could see it wasn't one of Howe's soldiers at all, but a man in templar armor. But what was he doing here?

Her heart racing, Rhianna climbed out of the tub, and wrapped herself in a towel.

"Um . . . good . . . doggy?" The man who had spoken sounded nervous, and with good reason. Dane was ready to tear out his throat if he came any further into the room.

Rhianna grabbed her dagger from the small table near the tub, and rounded the corner to stand just behind Dane. Near the door was a light-skinned man whose curly reddish-blonde hair was cropped short. His eyes were fixed on the mabari, and he'd drawn his sword, and held it as though he feared he would have to defend himself.

"Please, call off your dog," he said, without taking his eyes off Dane.

Dane growled more loudly.

"No," she replied. "I will not call off my dog. Not until you tell me who you are, and what in the Void you're doing in my bedroom."

The man glanced at Rhianna. At the sight of her, and her attire, his eyes grew wide, and he looked away quickly.

"B-begging your pardon, my lady. But p-please, call off the dog."

"No. Not until you answer my questions."

"I'm sorry . . . I . . . I was ordered to search every r-room on this f-floor."

"Why?" Oh, Maker. What if Howe's men had found her, and had broken into the tower somehow?

"A mage has gone missing."

She let out the breath that had been caught in her chest. This had nothing to do with Howe.

"Is there some reason you suspect this mage would be in here, with me?"

"I d-didn't realize anyone was staying in here, m-my lady."

"The locked door didn't give you a clue? Have you never heard of knocking? That's where you tap on the door, to see if there's someone inside, and then wait for them to give you permission to enter. Are all templars in the habit of barging in on young women in their baths?"

The initial rush of fear had worn off, leaving her keenly annoyed, but it was obvious the man had no intention to harm her, so she silently asked Dane to stand down. He came to sit beside her, but kept his gaze focused on the templar.

As for the templar, his eyes flitted around the room, not as though he were searching for some missing mage, but in what appeared to be an effort to look anywhere  _but_  at Rhianna, as she stood in a towel and dripped water onto the floor.

"I . . . didn't think to knock. I just used the master key. It's very important this man be found as soon as possible."

"I give you my word that no one is hiding in here. There's no one in this room but me and my hound, and I would very much appreciate if you would leave, long enough at least for me to put on some clothes."

"I'm sorry, my lady. But this room must be searched. I have my orders."

"Do you really think I'm hiding a mage in here? What, in the wardrobe, perhaps? Or maybe he was in the tub with me? Who is this mage anyway?"

"He's called Anders, and last night he took advantage of the fact a Harrowing was taking place to attempt an escape."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Of course he's dangerous." The man's brow wrinkled, as if she'd asked something very stupid. "He's a mage."

"But did he  _do_  something? More than just escape, I mean? And do you not think he might have tried a better hiding place than my bed chamber?"

"Please, my lady. If I could just search the room. Then I'll . . . I'll leave you to your . . . b-bath."

"Oh, all right. Look in the wardrobe or under the bed or wherever else you think this man might be hiding."

The templar crossed the room and pulled open the large wardrobe; it was, unsurprisingly, empty. As was the space under the bed, and behind the wall hangings, and, of course, the bathtub.

While he searched, Rhianna added, "I hope he gets away. If I were a mage, I expect I'd try to escape, as well, if this is the way you treat the people under your care. Barging in unannounced and not respecting their privacy at all."

For the first time, the man turned to face her directly. "Don't speak so, my lady. You don't know what this man - what all his kind - are capable of. They can perform blood magic, which drains life away, and allows a mage to control the minds of others. They can be possessed by demons, and become abominations capable of destruction you could scarcely imagine. There is a reason they are here, under our watchful eyes. Mages are dangerous. That is something you must never forget."

He strode toward the door. "I have finished my search. I apologize, my lady, for disturbing you."

"Wait," Rhianna called out. "What is your name?"

"Cullen, my lady." He inclined his head to her, briefly, and left the room, closing the door behind him. Rhianna hurried to lock the door again, and immediately felt foolish. After all, the lock hadn't done much good.

That had been unnerving. Both the intrusion - so much for feeling safe, even behind a locked door - and also at the thought that this might be the life all mages led. Were they really subjected to templars coming in on them at any moment? From what Cullen had said, it seemed that yes, they were, at least in an "emergency." Assuming the escape of a single mage could be called such.

What was to stop them from using the keys at other times as well? She'd heard dark rumors about templars abusing the mages - especially young women - under their "care." Rhianna had always assumed them to be nothing more than rumors.

But now, she had to wonder.

The bathwater had cooled too much for her to consider getting back in the tub, so she got dressed instead, and ventured out of her room in search of Duncan. For possibly the first time ever, she looked forward to seeing his familiar face, hearing the rich timbre of his voice.

He was in his room next door to her own, reading through some of the books he'd found in the library.

"Did a templar come and search your room?" she asked, after he invited her in and they sat together on one of the sofas.

"Yes. Apparently one of the mages escaped last night."

"I gathered as much. Even so, I would have preferred at least a word of warning before the man let himself into my bedroom while I was in the bath."

Duncan raised a brow. "I suppose he's doing what he considers his duty."

"Perhaps . . . but are mages really as dangerous as the templars believe them to be?"

Duncan let out a breath. "Magical power is . . . intense. And, like any form of power, must be wielded with care that it does not get out of control, or lead to abuse."

"Yes, I've heard that all my life about mages, but it seems to me that here in the tower, the ones abusing their power are the templars."

"It may appear that way, and no doubt there is some truth to it. But I have seen a mage overcome by a demon, and seen what they can become. It's not always the fault of the mage. Something about their magical power acts like a beacon to creatures of the Fade who can use them as a gateway into our world. And not all attacks come in the form you might suspect. Demons can be seductive. It is no trivial thing, watching to make certain the mages are not corrupted."

"It's still difficult for me to see why they're are treated with such . . . contempt. This templar had no qualms about bursting into a locked room; he barely even apologized. It was clear he thought he'd done nothing wrong. Do the mages live every day with such a lack of privacy?"

"I'm not saying it is an ideal situation. Just that it is necessary, as much for the safety of the mages as for everyone else."

A knock sounded at the door. It was the elven mage, Neria. "Sers, the First Enchanter asked me to tell you that he is available to speak with you now. If you will just follow me, I will show you to his chambers."

She led them to a room on the same floor as their guest quarters, a large room with tall bookshelves lining two walls, and tables covered in books and scrolls and strange apparatus. Magical equipment? Did mages need more than just their staves? Apparently so.

An elderly man was seated at a desk in the center of the room. He stood and smiled warmly, and the lines in his face furrowed even more deeply. He had a bushy grey beard, wore robes in varying shades of green and brown, and had a staff strapped to his back.

"Welcome!" He came forward to greet them. "It is good to see you again, Duncan."

"Thank you, Irving," Duncan replied. "It's a pleasure to see you again, as well."

"Do you need me for anything else, Irving?"

"Not just now, Neria. Thank you." As the enchanter left the room, Irving's eyes watch her fondly. "Neria Surana. She completed her harrowing only a few months ago, and is already one of the most talented spirit healers in our Circle."

"Spirit healer?" Rhianna asked.

"She can use her magic to mend injuries of flesh and bone, and even heal disease. It's not a common talent," Irving explained. "Under other circumstances, I might have sent her to Denerim; she'd be a excellent court mage for the king and queen. But I'm keeping her close, instead. I expect that one day she will succeed me as First Enchanter of this Circle. Hopefully not for a good many years, of course," he chuckled. "And who are you, my dear? A Grey Warden recruit I assume?"

"Yes, Ser," Rhianna replied.

"This is Rhianna, and she is a new recruit," Duncan confirmed. "We've just come from Highever. Rhianna, this is Irving, the First Enchanter of the Ferelden Circle of Magi."

"Rhianna?" The First Enchanter arched a brow. "That is the name of the Teyrn of Highever's daughter, is it not?"

"Yes, I am Bryce Cousland's daughter, although my brother is the teyrn now. Or will be as soon as he learns of the death of my parents."

Irving's brow creased. "We had word here of some sort of attack on the castle, but no real details. What exactly happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

"My family was betrayed by one of my father's oldest friends, Arl Rendon Howe. He ordered his soldiers to attack us in our beds, in the middle of the night, just after my brother marched with the Highever troops toward Ostagar."

Maker, but saying it like that was odd. Two sentences seemed hardly enough to sum up what had happened that night. The pain, the blood, the treachery and death. And yet, Rhianna couldn't think of anything more to add.

"I am very sorry to hear about this, my dear." Irving sounded sincere. "You have my deepest sympathies." He glanced at Duncan. "And you've recruited her into the Wardens? A noblewoman?"

"Yes. Rhianna is exceedingly skilled at arms, and as you know, a Blight has started in Ferelden. We need all the good people we can get."

"Which, of course," Irving replied, "is what has brought you here today, is it not?"

"It is."

"We have already sent mages to the king at Ostagar, Duncan. Not that I am averse to sending more. But you may find resistance from another quarter."

"I assume you're referring to me, Irving." A man in templar armor strode into the room. He appeared to be of a similar age as Irving, but had aged far more gracefully. His skin was less wrinkled, and his hair – short in the front, but brushing his collar in back - had not yet completely grayed. He wore his beard closely trimmed, and he was quite handsome. Except for the way he'd just walked in and interrupted the conversation. Typical templar behavior, it seemed.

"Oh good. There you are, Greagoir," Irving said cheerfully. "I'm glad you were able to join us." So, apparently this templar had been invited. That made it somewhat less obnoxious. "Rhianna, this is Knight-Commander Greagoir. He's in charge of the templars here at our Circle."

With barely a nod at Rhianna, the templar addressed Duncan. "If you've come asking for more mages to be sent south, I'm afraid you're going to leave here disappointed."

"That is a bit hasty, is it not?" Irving said lightly. "And let me introduce you to Duncan's companion. This is Rhianna Cousland. She's to be joining the Grey Wardens."

"Cousland?" Greagoir turned to look at Rhianna properly for the first time. He frowned. Rhianna guessed he had heard of the events in Highever. "Well met." He crossed his arms at his chest and bowed. Rhianna did the same.

A warrior's greeting, something she had generally only received on the practice field, or during tournaments. She should probably get used to this; no doubt, she would be viewed as a warrior from now on, and no longer a noble lady.

Greagoir turned back to Duncan. "Many have already gone to Ostagar. Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages. More than I am comfortable with having sent, frankly. And now you return asking for more? I'm afraid not. We've committed enough of our own to this war effort."

"Your own?" Irving's voice held just the slightest bit of mockery in its tone. "Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let them out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers? There are many here in the Circle who would readily agree to join the king at Ostagar. In spite of the dangers they would face there."

"The dangers  _they_  would face? Oh yes, I'm sure," Greagoir countered. "Mages like Anders, who would view it as the perfect opportunity to escape the reach of the Templars permanently."

"Not all of us bristle against the life we have here in the Circle, Greagoir."

"And," Duncan interjected, "I am afraid you underestimate the danger Ferelden faces at the hands of the darkspawn. A horde at least ten thousand strong has formed within the Korcari Wilds. If they are not stopped, they will strike north into the valley. Mages are powerful weapons against the horde, and against the archdemon when it finally appears. The dozen mages you have sent will be useful, but the king would prefer twice as many, at least. I understand the dangers, but we need the full assistance of the Circle and the templars if we are to defeat the darkspawn decisively, and quickly."

"You are the one who underestimates the dangers," Greagoir replied tersely. "We must be constantly vigilant against any sign of corruption in the mages. Something we cannot do effectively outside the Circle. I haven't enough templars to send more to the south than have already been sent."

At least they weren't questioning Duncan's insistence that this was a blight. Perhaps with their experience of the Fade, they were more willing to take seriously something seen in a dream.

Irving spoke. "Greagoir, I think perhaps it's not corruption that you fear, but what might happen if the mages are allowed to unleash their full power against the darkspawn. What if they decide they no longer want to be governed by the Chantry?"

"How dare you suggest-" Greagoir began, but he cut himself off when a young woman entered the room.

She was young, probably only a year or two older than Rhianna, and wore blue and purple apprentice robes. She was pretty, with brown eyes and skin the color of mahogany. Her black hair was long, and pulled into two queues which curled past her shoulders.

The woman came to stand beside Rhianna, and smiled tentatively at the group assembled.

"You sent for me, First Enchanter?"

"Ah, yes." Irving's voice sounded pleased. "The newest member of the Circle." He turned to Duncan and Rhianna. "This is Solona Amell, the mage who recently completed her Harrowing." To Solona, "Congratulations my dear. You did exceedingly well last night."

"Thank you, ser," She smiled, and a faint blush spread across her cheeks.

"Well, Irving, you're obviously busy." Greagoir's voice was harsh. "We will discuss this," he glanced at Duncan, "later."

"Of course," Irving replied, apparently unperturbed by Greagoir's mood. When the templar strode out of the room, Irving continued, "I apologize for the Knight-Commander's gruffness. Greagoir serves the Chantry, and the relationship between the Chantry and mages has always been strained. I'll go after him in a bit. Try and convince him that sending mages to the king is really for the best."

That seemed an uphill battle; would Duncan end up leaving Kinloch Hold empty handed? Of course, he could always conscript a few mages for the Wardens. Even Greagoir couldn't stop him from doing that.

"I have no doubt," Duncan replied, "that is a conversation best had in private."

"Indeed," Irving chuckled. "Well, then, where was I? Oh yes. Solona. This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens. And one of his new recruits, Rhianna." The mage glanced at Rhianna, and returned the smile Rhianna gave her.

"Pleased to meet you," Solona said.

Irving moved to his desk and retrieved a number of items. "I have some things for you, now that you are a full member of the Circle of Magi. Your new robes, marking you as an enchanter, no longer an apprentice. And your staff, which will allow you to channel your power more effectively. And finally, this ring that bears the Circle's insignia." Irving handed Solona the items.

"Thank you, ser. I am honored, and pleased."

"Wear them proudly. You have earned them, my dear. And it goes without saying," he added, "that you shall not discuss the Harrowing with those who have not undergone the rite. Now then, take your time to rest, or study in the library. Whatever you would like to do. The day is yours." He turned to Duncan. "And now, I think I'll try and make Greagoir see reason. In the meantime, please continue to make yourselves at home here in the tower."

"I will be happy to spend more time in your library," Duncan said. "There's a particular reference I have not yet been able to locate."

"Just ask any of the senior mages for their help," Irving said. "I'm sure they will be more than happy to assist you." He turned to Rhianna. "And what about you, my dear? I hope you haven't been bored by your stay here so far. Is there anything you might like to do, that you haven't yet been able?"

"I haven't been bored at all," she assured him. "In fact," she added, remembering the incident with the templar, "it's been more exciting than I'd expected." She paused. "There is one thing I should like to do, if it's allowed."

"What's that, my dear?"

"Would it be possible for me to climb to the top? Of the tower, I mean. Up onto the roof, or to the highest floor with windows. I would love to see the view."

"I can't remember anyone making that particular request before, but I see no reason why it can't be done. I'll have someone come and find you, and escort you there as soon as can be arranged. In the meantime, Solona, would you please see Duncan and Rhianna back to their rooms?"

"Of course," she agreed.

"Thank you. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have matters to discuss with Greagoir."

The First Enchanter took his leave of them, and Rhianna and Duncan followed Solona back through the halls. Having an escort was quite unnecessary; it wasn't complicated getting around the tower, as all the rooms were off a single circular hallway. Still, Rhianna didn't mind. She was somewhat intrigued by this woman who had just become a full mage.

When they reached the rooms, Duncan thanked Solona for her help and then continued downstairs to the library. Instead of leaving, however, the mage hesitated.

"Do you think . . ." the mage began, "Well, I don't want to intrude, but if you have a few minutes to spare, I wonder if we could talk for a bit. If I could ask you a few questions?"

"Of course. Let's sit in my quarters." Leaving the door to the hallway open, Rhianna indicated that Solona should sit on one of the sofas in the little sitting area. "You have questions? What did you want to know?"

"Well, I couldn't help but hear the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander arguing before I came in. I was just wondering what that was about."

"Duncan and I came here so he could try to recruit more mages to join the king's army at Ostagar. Your First Enchanter seems quite willing for that to happen, but the Knight-Commander is against it."

"Oh, yes, I suppose he would be. He doesn't like mages to be away from the Circle unless absolutely necessary. Which hardly ever happens. It's never happened for me, at least. Occasionally one of the senior enchanters gets to go to another Circle when the College of Magi convenes, and there are those few court mages who live outside the Circle all of the time. But it's not very common."

"So, you aren't ever allowed to leave the Circle?

"We're permitted to walk the grounds sometimes," Solona replied. "The templars are fond of saying we're not missing much. That Ferelden is quite boring. Mostly farms and the occasional river."

Rhianna snorted. "Ferelden is anything but boring. It's absolutely beautiful." She paused. "Probably I shouldn't say that, should I? Considering you're not allowed to go out and see for yourself."

"Don't worry," she chuckled. "I know the templars aren't telling the truth. Or perhaps it's what they tell themselves, as well. To be honest, most of them have as little freedom as we do to move about the country. I would like to see something of the world, though. Where are you from, originally?"

"Not far from here. I'm from Highever."

"That's on the coast?"

"Yes."

"Why did you leave?" When Rhianna hesitated, Solona quickly added, "Or maybe you don't want to talk about it. Which is all right, too. I don't mean to be nosy."

"No, it's all right. The short version is that most of my family was killed. I'd probably be dead now, as well, if it weren't for Duncan. And in return, he . . . asked me to join the Grey Wardens. And I haven't really got anywhere else to go . . ." Rhianna shrugged.

"I'm sorry. About your family."

Rhianna nodded her acknowledgement of the other woman's sympathy. "What about your family? Do you ever get to see them?"

"No. I was a bit older than usual when I was taken away, so at least I remember them. Not all of my fellow mages can say that. My parents tried to hide the fact that I was . . . magical, but eventually it came out, and I was brought here. It caused my family a bit of trouble, as well. My uncle would have been Viscount of Kirkwall, if not for me, and the way my mage blood 'tainted' our family."

"What do you mean? Because you're a mage, they, what? They chose someone else to be Viscount?"

"Exactly."

"That's horrible." Perhaps that was the reason her parents had been so afraid when they thought she used magic to speak with animals. Would Father have lost the teyrnir if Rhianna really had proven to be a mage? "So you haven't seen them at all? Your mother, or your father?"

"No. The Circle doesn't encourage that sort of thing. And besides, I don't think they really wanted to see me. Not my parents, anyway. I do have a cousin who is married to an . . ." Solona looked around nervously, and then continued in a softer voice, "married to an apostate. You know, a mage who isn't part of a Circle? Sometimes I wish there would have been a way for me to go live with them. But they're not always easy to find. They have to move around a lot, to stay one step ahead of the templars."

"Where are they? I don't suppose they could come to visit, could they?"

"No," Solona laughed. "No one comes to visit, really, and certainly not apostates. Last I heard, they were living in Lothering, but that was a couple of years ago. They might not still be there."

"So what happens now? I mean, now that you're a mage, and no longer an apprentice? Will things be different for you in any way?"

"I don't think much will change, to be honest. Well, I won't sleep with the apprentices anymore. I've been given quarters here on the second floor. And I'm allowed to use magic whenever I want. I suppose I'll find some area of magic to research, and learn all that I can about it." She sighed. "I wouldn't mind going to Ostagar, to tell you the truth, and join the king's army. But it doesn't sound as though the Knight-Commander intends to allow any more mages out of the tower."

"If you're really interested," Rhianna offered, "I'll speak to Duncan on your behalf. Tell him you're willing. Maybe he can convince the Knight-Commander. Duncan can be very persuasive. I get the feeling he's mostly accustomed to getting what he wants, so he rarely takes no for an answer."

"Would you really? Speak to Duncan about me?" Solona's eyes were wide, her voice earnest. She truly did want to leave the tower.

"Of course. I'll do it next time I see him."

Before Solona had the chance to respond, a man wearing apprentice robes stuck his head through the door. "Solona!" he said in a loud, urgent whisper. His dark hair contrasted starkly with his fair skin, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"What is it Jowan?" Solona replied, a slight edge to her voice. "Can't you see I'm busy? We have a visitor here at the Circle."

"I beg your pardon, my lady." He gave Rhianna an apologetic smile. "But I really need to speak to you, Solona. It's important."

Solona let out a ragged breath, glanced at Rhianna, and then back at Jowan. "Oh, all right. I don't want to overstay my welcome here, anyway." She got to her feet. "Thank you, for giving me this time."

"You're more than welcome," Rhianna said sincerely. "And feel free to stop by again by later if you have any more questions. Or if you want to, you know, just visit."

Solona and Jowan went off together, and Rhianna poked around at the books on her shelf for a few minutes. Just when she'd decided upon one that didn't sound magical in nature – "The Rose of Orlais," which appeared to be some sort of romance between a noblewoman and a chevalier - there was a knock at the door.

Rhianna looked up to see a familiar face: the man who had barged in on Rhianna's bath earlier.

"Excuse me, my lady."

"Hello. Cullen, is that right?"

"Yes, my lady." His face turned slightly pink. "I understand you want to go up to the roof?"

"Yes. I would very much appreciate it, if you don't mind escorting me."

"Of course. I'd be more than happy to do so."

Getting to the top of the tower turned out to be more arduous than Rhianna had anticipated. On each floor, the stairway to the floor above was only reached by walking all the way around to the other end. So, Rhianna and Cullen had ample time to chat along the way.

"Did your mage ever turn up? What was his name? Andrew?"

"Anders. And no, he hasn't turned up yet. We believe he was able to get out of the tower somehow, but he won't get far. Templars are looking for him, and I've no doubt that they'll catch up with him soon."

"What will happen to him if they do? Will he be . . . punished?"

"He'll be brought back to the tower, where he belongs."

"Oh. Well, I suppose being forced to live here in this prison is punishment enough, then."

"This isn't a prison, my lady. And they're not forced to live here on some whim. It's for their safety as well as the safety of everyone else."

"And you know this, how? Have you actually seen a mage become an abomination? What's it like?"

"Well . . . no, I haven't seen anything like that. Not personally. I only took my vows a short while ago, so this is still new to me."

"So you don't even know what an abomination looks like? How are you supposed to know when to fight? Is it obvious?"

"Well, I know there's a transformation. It is obvious, at least some of the time. Unless the demon manages to hide itself from everyone else."

"Demons can hide themselves?" Rhianna arched a brow. "Then abominations might be walking among us right now? For all you know, I could be one." Rhianna knew she was goading him just a bit, but she didn't care, not after what had happened that morning.

"Well, you see, this is exactly why mages need to be in the Circle. Because you can't tell. But only mages can become abominations. You're no mage, are you?"

"No. I'm not a mage. Just a woman who wonders why you're convinced mages are so horrible. We had a court mage at Highever. I knew him for years and years and he never became an abomination. Nor did the court mage in Denerim. I was friends with her, as well."

"They were lucky, then, both of them. Or strong-willed. Look, I'm not the one who put the mages here, but I do believe it's for the best. For them and for the rest of us."

"You sound very confident of that."

"I am confident. I serve the Maker first and foremost. As long as I am guided by His commandments, I cannot go wrong."

Ah. The Maker. Yes, that's the way to end a debate right away; what argument was there to make against such blind faith? No doubt Cullen would be disinterested, offended even, to know that lately, Rhianna had doubts in the perfection of the Maker and his commandments.

So, she fell silent, and they walked the rest of the way without speaking at all.

When they reached the roof, Cullen did not follow as she and Dane walked out into the sunshine. The templar merely stood near the door they had just exited, and watched. It seems that was what templars do best. Watch and wait, and be ready to stab things with their swords if there was any trouble.

The door had opened to the north, and she found herself looking out over the hills through which she and Duncan had just traveled. On the other side of those hills lay Highever, or what was left of it.

Images flashed through her mind: her father, as he clutched at his side. Oren, on his back in a pool of his own blood. The halls filled with smoke, as sinister firelight flickered from piles of furniture set alight. The back of Ser Gilmore's head as he walked away. Blood dripping from the sword in her mother's hand.

Rhianna's breath caught in her chest, and she put a hand on the wall to steady herself. Grief flooded through her, followed swiftly by guilt, hot and thick.

It was her fault. All of it. If only she'd woken up sooner, Oren and Oriana might still be alive. If she'd run faster, they might have reached her father in time. And why hadn't she guessed Howe might do something like this? He'd always been despicable; surely, there was some clue, only she hadn't paid enough attention. She'd been so wrapped up in her own dramas over the past year – crying about Loghain, and then Gauvain - she'd ignored everything else.

And now her family was dead. What if she could have done something to stop it?

She choked back a sob.

No. She didn't want to think about any of those things, and she certainly wasn't going to let herself cry in front of this haughty, ridiculous templar, so she turned and walked to the other side of the roof, putting Highever behind her.

Here, Lake Calenhad stretched out to the south, dark blue and beautiful as sunlight glinted off its glassy surface. She stared down at the water, and at the trees along its shore, and then up at the few puffy clouds that drifted in the sky. It was a glorious view, and she focused on the colors, and the shapes, as she took one deep, slow breath after another, and rested her hands on the waist-high stone wall that ringed the roof.

What had happened to the man who escaped? Anders. She felt sorry for him, even though she knew nothing about him, other than the fact he'd escaped. He might be young or old, thin or fat. Perhaps he was loathsome and stupid, or he might be charming and handsome. But none of that mattered. Regardless of what sort of person he was, Rhianna felt a sense of kinship with him. Forced to live in this tower, as Rhianna was being forced to join the Grey Wardens. A man who was so unhappy, he would do anything to be somewhere other than where he was. She knew how that felt, as well. Except in her case, she feared she would be unhappy no matter where she went.

With any luck, Anders had managed to escape. Managed to get away to some place the templars couldn't find him.

Escape.

Perhaps that's what she should do, as well. Before this ritual changed her life forever, or killed her outright.

She looked to the southwest. Gherlen's Pass was such a short distance from here, and on the other side was Orlais.

Orlais, and Gauvain. His smile, the light in his brown eyes, the way his hair hung slightly down onto his forehead. His soft, warm skin, so dark against her own pale flesh. His perfect lips, and the way her name rolled off his tongue like music.

She could go to him. Once she and Duncan left Kinloch Hold, it would be simple to sneak away in the middle of the night, and make her way through the pass to Jader, and hop on a ship to Val Chevin. Gauvain would welcome her with open arms, and would protect her from anything or anyone that tried to harm her. As would his cousin, the empress, and Rhianna wouldn't have to spend the rest of her life fighting darkspawn with the Grey Wardens. Maker knows she felt no loyalty to the Wardens or to Duncan, nor did she feel compelled to honor his conscription of her, done in the midst of blackmailing her dying father. She could go to Orlais, and Duncan wouldn't be able to do anything to stop her.

Except that most of the reasons she left Orlais in the first place were still valid. Rhianna couldn't have children with Gauvain, not if those children could someday pose a threat to Ferelden, and he already had a family he loved. As for Duncan, it was true she felt no loyalty to him, but at the same time, he had been kind, treated her well during their travels. If he'd been harsh and brutal, she'd have left and not looked back. But, for all he'd ignored her wishes, he was a good man at heart. And joining the Wardens was the last thing her father had asked of her. How could she face him, when they met again at the side of the Maker, if she ran away from her duty?

When it came down to it, though, there was one reason that rose above all the others: she couldn't abandon her homeland while it was under attack by the darkspawn.

She put her hand to her chest, to the place where the silver hawk would have hung if she were wearing it. But the pendant from Gauvain, along with most of the things Loghain had given her, had been left behind in the castle. Perhaps they were hidden well enough that Howe would never discover them. She hoped so. Even if she never returned to the castle, it turned her stomach to think of Howe or any of his men pawing through those things that were so precious to her.

Rhianna leaned out over the edge of the crenellated roof and looked down. It was a long way to the bottom. A very long way.

Her hands clutched more tightly at the wall, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

There was another way out.

If she really didn't want to be a Warden, there was another way out. If she couldn't face living in this world without her family at her side, there was a way out.

It would be so simple. All she had to do was lean far enough forward, and over the edge she would tumble before Cullen could stop her. She would be free of all of these worries, free of the grief and the guilt and the shame. Free of the dread of what the future would bring. No longer would she feel the loss of Gauvain, or the heartbreak Loghain had caused her.

What would be on the other side? Would Andraste be there? Or would the beloved prophet turn away from a woman who had taken her own life?

More importantly, would her parents be there? Oriana, Oren? Nan? King Maric, perhaps? The Chantry teaches that when people who have lived their lives by the Chant die, they end up at the side of the Maker. Surely, this meant all the people Rhianna loved were there, with Him. Was this her opportunity to rejoin them? She couldn't imagine anything more wonderful.

She leaned further out, and a gust of wind whipped through her hair and pushed her slightly off balance.

With a gasp, she stepped away from the wall, frightened by her own thoughts.

No. How could she even consider such a thing? Just thinking about it was sinful and wrong. And what of Fergus? Assuming he was still alive, Rhianna was all he had left. How would he feel to learn that his sister, his beloved sister, had died, too. Not by being murdered at Highever, but by throwing herself from a tower?

She couldn't do that. Not to Fergus. She couldn't leave him all alone.

Dane huffed softly, from where he sat beside her.  _Don't leave me alone, either._

Maker. Of course Dane knew what she was thinking; he always knew what she was thinking. He wouldn't have let her do it. He'd been ready to grab her leg and pull her back, if it came to that.

She dropped to her knees, and threw her arms around his neck, as fear carved an empty space in her chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I won't think about it any more. I won't. I promise."

He licked her neck, his tongue warm against her skin.

No, there was no escape for her – of any kind. She would stay with Duncan, go with him to Ostagar and the Grey Wardens and go through this Maker-damned ritual of theirs, and that would be that. She would be a Grey Warden, assuming she didn't die in the process, and she'd fight the darkspawn until they were defeated, and then she'd worry about what came next. If there were as many darkspawn in the south as Duncan said there were, it was possible that her life as a Grey Warden wouldn't last all that long. In which case her worries would be over, and that would be all right, too. As long as it hadn't been by her own hand.

She stood, and returned to the door. "I'm ready to go back downstairs," she announced.

Cullen gave her a quizzical look, but nodded and gestured that she should lead the way.

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna went in search for Duncan, intending to fulfill her promise to Solona. She found him in the library.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No," he answered. "Not yet."

"Can I help?"

Before he could answer, the tower shook violently, and something that sounded like the blast of an explosion echoed below their feet.

"That sounded like it came from downstairs," Duncan said. Together, they hurried through the tower, and down to the first floor.

When they emerged in the large central hallway, it was in chaos. Two men lie on their backs on the floor; one of them appeared to be the First Enchanter. Solona Amell knelt at his side, as if to help him back up on his feet. The other prone man, a templar judging by his armor, was being helped off the floor by another of his order. The Knight-Commander was there as well, his face pale and his mouth grim, and a young woman in Chantry robes cowered near the stairs that led to a lower floor of the tower.

"So what you said was true, Irving." Greagoir's voice echoed throughout the hall. "An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage." He looked at the woman in robes. "She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then. The initiate has betrayed us." To the woman, "I'm disappointed in you, Lily. You have scorned both the Chantry and your vows. You will be sent to Aeonar, the mage's prison."

The young woman gasped. "No. Please. Not that . . . not Aeonar. I . . . I . . ."

"It wasn't her fault, Knight-Commander." Solona's voice sounded strained. "She didn't know Jowan was a blood mage."

Greagoir wheeled around to face her. "And did you know that he was?"

"Of course not! We had no idea he was a maleficar. All we knew was that you were planning to perform the Rite of Tranquility upon him, instead of letting him attempt his Harrowing. Perhaps he would never have resorted to blood magic if he hadn't been in fear for his life!"

"Tranquility is not a death sentence, girl," the Knight-Commander barked.

"Then you don't even deny it?" she argued back. "You don't deny you were going to make him tranquil?"

"Some mages are unable to control their power, Solona." Irving looked and sounded exhausted, hardly the cheerful man they had spoken with earlier in the day. "You knew of this beforehand. You could have told me of this plan, of Jowan's intent to break into the Repository and destroy his phylactery? And yet you didn't."

Solona stood taller, undaunted. "Tell you? So you could make him Tranquil that much sooner? I thought you cared for us, but you don't, do you? You don't really care at all for what happens to us. Is it enough to bow to the Chantry's every whim?"

"Solona-" Irving began.

"That's enough!" Greagoir's voice echoed through the large hall. "This is unacceptable, Irving, You've lost control. A blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down. An initiate breaking every vow she ever took. And this one," he turned to Solona. "Newly a mage and already flouting the rules of the Circle. You know why the Repository exists. Some magics are locked away for a reason! You helped a blood mage escape. All our prevention measures for naught. Because of you!"

"None of us expected this, Greagoir," the First Enchanter responded, and turned to Solona. "Did you take anything from the Repository?" Irving asked.

"No." Her forehead creased, as though the question offended her. "Of course not."

"But your antics have made a mockery of this Circle!" Greagoir took a step toward Solona.

"It will be all right, Greagoir," Irving said smoothly. "The man can't have gone far. You'll capture him."

"Believe me, we will use our every resource. Although I'd feel better about our chances if half of my templars weren't already out searching for that Maker-damned Anders. He should have been made tranquil after his last attempt!"

"We don't make Harrowed mages tranquil, Greagoir," Irving murmured, and the two men exchanged a glance that made Rhianna uncomfortable.

"Be that as it may." Greagoir crossed his arms in front of him, and stared at Solona. "Now we must decide what is going to happen to you."

"Do what you like." Solona raised her chin defiantly. "I stand by my decision to help Jowan."

Duncan strode forward, and Rhianna followed at his side.

"Knight-Commander, if I may," he began. "I think I have a solution that will benefit all concerned. I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. We look for dedication in our recruits. Fighting the darkspawn requires such dedication, often at the expense of all else. From what little I've just heard, this mage has the sort of dedication that will serve her well if she joins the Grey Wardens."

"Duncan," Greagoir replied, "this mage has assisted a maleficar, and shown a lack of regard for the Circle's rules. She is a danger to all of us."

"It's a rare person who risks all for a friend in need," Rhianna said softly. Everyone turned, as if surprised that she had spoken. Duncan gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and Solona threw her a brief, but grateful smile.

"Irving spoke highly of this mage," Duncan said firmly. "And I would like her to join the Warden ranks."

Solona spoke up in a firm voice. "If the Grey Wardens will have me, I will go, gladly."

"No!" Greagoir's face darkened with anger. "A blood mage escapes and his accomplice is not only unpunished, but rewarded by becoming a Grey Warden? Are our rules nothing?"

"Greagoir, mages are needed," Duncan said calmly. "Worse things plague this world than blood mages. Darkspawn are a greater threat than even abominations. It takes decades for the world to recover from a blight. We must stop at nothing to defeat the darkspawn." He took a step toward Solona. "I will take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions."

"Have we lost all authority over our mages?" Greagoir's eyes flashed as he looked from Irving to Duncan to Solona and back to Irving again.

"Enough." The First Enchanter's voice sounded exhausted, but there was a hint of something else as well. Relief, perhaps. "We have no more say in this matter. You know as well as I do that Duncan can invoke the Right of Conscription, so let's not make it more difficult than it needs to be. Solona Amell will be allowed to join the Grey Wardens. As he said, mages are needed. And at least with her out of the tower, she will give you no further worries, Greagoir."

"This does not bode well, Irving," Greagoir said through a clenched jaw, and strode angrily from the room. The other two templars, one of them leading Lily by the arm, followed close behind.

The four people who remained in the room were silent for the space of several breaths, as if too shocked by what had just happened to think of anything to say. Finally, the First Enchanter broke the silence.

"I regret it had to come to this, Solona. You show great promise, and I hope you are able to realize that promise within the Grey Wardens."

"Is this it, then?" Solona's voice was small and scared, in contrast to the way she had sounded when she stood up to the Knight-Commander. "Am I to leave the Circle forever?"

"Yes, my child. I'm afraid so. The Circle never forgets its apprentices, but the Grey Wardens shall be your family now."

Solona bit her bottom lip and stared at the bearded man. Then she nodded her head slowly.

"Come." Duncan put his hand on her shoulder. "Your new life awaits."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to my beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, and AmandaKitswell, and also to all my wonderful reviewers: Irish_Changeling, DarkspawnHorror, KatDancer, Vicky79, and Riptide. 
> 
> ‹›‹O›‹›
> 
> This chapter contains a Trigger Warning for suicidal thoughts.


	8. More than you can carry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions arrive in Lothering.

__**25 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Lothering** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Just as the sun reached its highest point in the sky, Rhianna and her companions arrived in Lothering. The first thing they saw as they came in along the paved road from the north was a large windmill that rose above farm fields and meadows, its blades turning in the gentle wind. The town was spread out just beyond, framed by tree-dotted hills in the distance.

Lothering was rustic, but pretty - a modest collection of buildings that spanned both sides of a small river that ran through the center of the town. To the west, a chantry spire loomed near the single bridge that connected the two halves of the town, and to the south was an array of wagons and tents. There were far more people in the streets than seemed usual for a town this size, although it didn't appear to be a market day.

With any luck, they'd be able to restock their supplies and find beds for the night. The thought of sleep in an actual bed sounded embarrassingly delightful. In years past, camping had always been a pleasure. Rhianna had loved nights spent out in the wilderness with Fergus, just the two of them. They'd cooked over the fire, and looked up the stars, and she was assured of having her brother's complete attention. But they'd never stayed out more than two nights in a row, so she'd never realized just how uncomfortable it was spending night after night on the ground, and how lackluster dried rations and the sort of food that could be cooked over a campfire seemed when it was the only thing one ate for days on end.

And of course, Rhianna and Fergus had never worried that assassins might sneak up and murder them in their sleep. Since leaving Kinloch Hold, they'd seen no signs of Howe's men, although it was probably too much to hope that Howe had given up on wanting Rhianna dead. It was exhausting, having to be always alert to the possibility of an attack, and feeling as though danger lurked around every corner.

So, she was pleased when Duncan had agreed they could stay the night in Lothering. A full meal, and a warm bed behind a locked door would do wonders for her morale.

They had spent one more night at Kinloch Hold, so Solona could pack her few possessions and say goodbye to the life she had known for so many years. After dinner - a subdued affair, served in Duncan's bedchamber for the three of them and Dane - Solona had come to Rhianna with a request.

"I wonder," she began rather tentatively, "if it would be all right if I spent the night in your room?" The surprise Rhianna felt at this evaporated with the mage's next words. "I was given quarters here on the second floor, with the rest of the enchanters . . . but everyone keeps looking at me sort of suspiciously. I suppose I can't blame them, really, but if you don't mind, I think it would be more comfortable for everyone if I just stayed here instead of sleeping with the other mages. Besides . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"What? Is there something else worrying you?"

"Oh, I don't know." She bit her bottom lip. "It's probably foolish, but the knight-commander was very angry." She didn't explain further, but Rhianna could fill in the blank: what if Greagoir changed his mind about allowing Solona to leave, and sent his templars to take her into custody.

"Of course you can stay here," Rhianna replied. "You're more than welcome to stay with me."

Solona brought in her things - just a single pack that didn't appear very full - and the two women got ready for bed. It was a bit early to actually go to sleep, though, so they sat down to talk until it was late enough to turn in for the night. Rhianna had her dagger close at hand; she wasn't entirely certain there was nothing to fear from the templars.

"What's he like?" Solona asked, once they were settled on the sofa with cups of steaming, fragrant tea in their hands, made with water Solona had heated magically in an instant.

Rhianna's brow creased. "What's who like?"

Solona laughed. "I'm sorry, that made no sense at all, did it, coming out of the blue? I meant Duncan. What's he like? Tomorrow I'll be leaving here with him, and I really don't know anything about him at all. It's a bit . . . overwhelming."

It was a reasonable question, but how to answer it? Rhianna's relationship with Duncan had gotten off to an uncomfortable start, to say the least.

"Let's see. Duncan is a bit difficult to get to know. He doesn't talk a lot, especially about Grey Warden business, but on the whole, he's been kind, while we've traveled together. He treats me with respect. And he's a . . . gentleman. He's never said or done anything inappropriate."

"That's good to know. I . . ." Solona chewed at her bottom lip. "I'm being stupid, aren't I? This is what I said I wanted. To go south and fight the darkspawn. To leave the Circle. But now that it's happening . . . well, I just never expected it to be so . . . final. And tomorrow I'll be leaving here with a man I don't know at all, and . . . I'm just so glad you'll be with us."

"You're not being stupid. I was afraid of him at first, too." Although Rhianna suspected her own fears had been of a somewhat different nature than Solona's. Rhianna had never been nervous about traveling with Duncan; the thing she feared had come to pass when he conscripted her. Perhaps she should have been nervous about other things, but she knew how to defend herself. Of course, Solona was a mage; couldn't she defend herself, as well? "But you don't need to worry about Duncan. I know he's a bit intimidating, at first. But he's a good man. I've come to understand that much about him."

"Thank you." Solona let out a breath. "Maker, I must seem like such a baby."

"No, not at all. It's reasonable to be nervous. You're leaving your home, and all the people you know, all your friends."

"I suppose so." Solona shrugged. "I mean, yes. Of course, there are people I'll miss. Jowan, for one. Right now, though, everyone I know seems a bit afraid of me, because of what he did, with my help."

"Is he really a blood mage like the knight-commander said?"

Solona's eyes widened slightly, as though she had not expected this question. Then she shrugged. "Yes, I suppose he is. I mean, I saw him . . . I saw him cut open his hand and use the blood to cast a spell. Just before you and Duncan came into the hall."

"But you didn't know beforehand?"

"No. I had no idea. Jowan and I had been friends for years. I honestly would never have thought him capable of such a thing. Partly because he is a good person. I know that much is true, in spite of what he did. But also . . ." her voice trailed off.

"Also what?"

"He's never been that . . . talented. Magically, I mean. Almost no one believed he'd be capable of surviving his Harrowing, and he believed the First Enchanter would never ever him try to go through with it. Perhaps that's why he turned to blood magic. Looking for some way to make himself strong enough to avoid being made tranquil."

"What does that mean? Being made tranquil?"

"It's what happens to mages who can't control their magic. There's a ritual, or something, that severs the mage's connection with the Fade. That way, they can't dream, and they can't be approached by demons. But . . ." Solona's nose wrinkled and her eyes darkened. "It also removes the ability to do magic, and it disconnects the mage from their emotions, as well."

"What do you mean? Disconnects them from their emotions?"

"Just how it sounds. They don't feel things anymore. Passion or anger."

"Or love?"

"Or love."

"That sounds awful. How could anyone do that to another person?"

"It's a kindness," Solona replied, although her expression was skeptical. "At least that's what they tell us. A protection from demons, and other dangers of magic. To be fait, those who are made tranquil don't seem unhappy. Not really. Of course, they don't seem to feel anything else, either."

"And Jowan didn't want this to happen?"

"No, he didn't. I've never known a mage who wished for it, although they say some do. Not Jowan, though. I . . . well, I wish there had been more I could have done to help him."

"But you did help him. He's away from the Circle, and perhaps the templars won't be able to find him."

"That's true . . . but he's also all on his own out there. He doesn't know anything about living in the world. Neither do I, but I'll have you and Duncan to help me. Jowan won't have anyone. What if he can't find shelter, or feed himself. He might have to resort to blood magic again, which will make him more susceptible to being possessed by a demon, and becoming an abomination."

"You don't know that's what will happen." Rhianna took one of Solona's hands, and squeezed it gently. "Maybe he'll be just fine."

"Perhaps. I hope so."

"Do you know the other mage who escaped? Anders?" Rhianna asked.

"Yes, I know him. Not very well, but well enough to say hello in the hallway. Why do you ask?"

"Well, with two of them gone at the same time, the templars will have to split their efforts. Perhaps that will give both of them a better chance of getting away."

"Perhaps it will. I hope so, anyway."

Although, what Solona had said about Jowan not knowing how to take care of himself made Rhianna wonder how this Anders would fare, out in the world. It sounded as though Anders had escaped before, but always been captured again. Perhaps mages who lived in the Circle really weren't prepared for life out in the real world.

In which case Jowan probably didn't stand much of a chance, either, but there was no point in worrying Solona with such unpleasant thoughts.

‹›‹O›‹›

The next morning, they left the Circle Tower at dawn, on the same boat that had brought them across the lake. As Kester rowed them farther and farther from the tower, Rhianna could feel as the tension she'd held in her shoulders – tension from the Circle's strange, oppressive atmosphere – slipped mercifully away.

Rhianna had suggested they hire a boat, and travel south on the lake, but Duncan preferred to go overland. He hoped to find one of the Dalish clans that made their home in Ferelden, so they set off to the south on foot.

Solona was a pleasant companion, friendly and curious, but without being pushy. When she and Rhianna walked together, they spoke of insignificant things, mostly, although Rhianna did share some details about her family, and what had happened to them back in Highever. Solona seemed not to want to talk about her life in the tower; instead, the young mage was fascinated with everything she saw, and pointed out one thing after another along their way.

Sometimes, Solona left Rhianna to her thoughts and walked with Duncan instead. Apparently, what Rhianna had said about him put Solona's mind at ease, as she seemed comfortable with him now, and not intimidated at all. Solona managed to elicit more conversation from him than Rhianna had been able to do, although he still kept quiet about Grey Warden secrets. It was comforting to listen to them talk. Not to the words they said, but simply to the cadence of their voices as they walked ahead of her and Dane. It gave her something to occupy her mind, without having to gather the energy to participate. It was also something of a relief not to be the sole focus of Duncan's attention.

For nearly a week they had walked, from dawn to sunset, and then slept on the hard packed earth near the road. Rhianna was cheered by the idea that tonight, they would be able to sleep in beds - assuming there was a room to be had at the local inn.

Now, as they passed through the meadow and approached the village, a group of children were clustered around a cage, shouting taunts at whoever was trapped inside. It was a man. A very large man, possibly the largest man Rhianna had ever seen.

"Murderer!"

"Monster!"

"I hope you die, you ugly freak!"

The man seemed not to care about the children's shouts. Instead, he chanted words in a quiet but steady voice: " _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun_."

A red-haired boy of about ten picked up a rock and threw it through the bars of the cage. It hit the man on the chest, but he remained motionless; he didn't even glance in the boy's direction. He merely continued to chant in a language Rhianna didn't recognize at all.

When a second child bent to pick up a rock, Rhianna rushed to grab him by the arm.

"That's enough of that."

The child in her grasp looked up at her with a mix of horror and surprise, and she glared at him a moment, and then turned to look at each of the children in turn, now she had their attention.

"Leave him alone," she said firmly. "All of you"

"Who in the Void are you, to tell us what to do?" sneered the boy who had thrown the rock. "And what are you going to do if we don't?"

What? Never in her life had a child in Highever spoken to her like this. They were always respectful, and never questioned anything she asked them to do.

Then again, the children in Highever had known better than to behave so badly in front of her. Hopefully, they had known better than to behave so badly at all.

She stood straighter, and put a hand on one hip. "Do you see that dog there?" She glanced back at Dane, who crouched and bared his teeth slightly. "Do you think he bites?"

Again, she glanced at each of the children in turn; none of them responded to her question.

"Well, if you're curious to see whether or not he does, just go ahead and throw another rock, and we'll see what happens."

The child whose arm she was holding yanked away from her grasp, dropped the rock he was holding, and took off running. The other children did the same, scattering in various directions. The one who had spoken lasted the longest, his chin lifted defiantly, but when he realized all the others had abandoned him, he, too, ran off without another word.

Rhianna approached the cage and had a closer look at the man inside. His height wasn't the only remarkable thing about him. Not only was he tall, but he was massive, with a broad chest and huge, muscular arms. His skin was dark bronze, and his white hair was braided closely along his scalp. He didn't smile, but neither did he appear angry.

"You are not one of my captors," he said, without even glancing in her direction. "I will not amuse you any more than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace."

"I am not here to be amused," Rhianna said. "I didn't like to see those children tormenting you, so I chased them off."

"That was unnecessary," he said. "Their words did not trouble me, and any pain they might have caused would have been well-deserved."

"Fair enough," she replied. "Their behavior needed to be corrected for their sakes, then, if not for yours. Children must learn to behave properly."

"In that you speak the truth," he agreed. He glanced at her, but only for a moment before he looked straight ahead again.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"Seven days, now."

"And who was it who locked you away?"

"I am here by order of the woman who runs the village Chantry."

The Revered Mother had ordered this? This man must have done something awful.

"Do they feed you?"

"No."

"That's a long time to go without food or water," Solona said.

"For one of your kind, perhaps," he replied. "But for me, it is not nearly long enough. I expect I will last several more days. Weeks, perhaps."

"Would you like some food? Or water?" Rhianna offered.

"Tempting, but I shall decline." Another glance in Rhianna's direction. "Were you in my position, would you prolong your imprisonment?"

Duncan tugged gently at the sleeve of her shirt. "Let's go."

Rhianna shrugged, and allowed herself to be led away into town.

"I wonder why he's in that cage," Solona whispered. "He didn't look at all Fereldan, did he? I'm not sure he was even human!"

"He isn't human," Duncan replied. "He's one of the Qunari. A people who hail from Seheron and Par Vollen. I have no guess, however, as to the answer to your first question."

Rhianna glanced back at the man one more time. "Are they really going to leave him in there to die?" That sounded horrific.

"He must've done something to incur the justice of the Chantry," Duncan said. "And yes, I suspect they do intend to leave him to starve to death."

"That's . . . barbaric," Solona said. "Isn't there something we can do?"

"The Chantry doesn't look well upon others interfering in their business," Duncan replied.

"He looks very strong," Rhianna said. "Don't we need warriors, to fight the darkspawn? Perhaps you could recruit him into the Wardens. That would save his life, and benefit the army as well."

Duncan glanced at Rhianna. "The Qunari are not well suited for becoming Grey Wardens. The belief system they follow is rigid, and leaves little room for being loyal to any other cause." He shook his head. "It is not for us to interfere with that man's fate."

Duncan's jaw was set; clearly, he had no more to say on the subject. So, Rhianna pushed it from her mind. It made her uncomfortable to just leave him there, but it wasn't really any of her business, after all.

As soon as they entered the town proper, they came upon a large inn on their left, and Duncan led them in that direction. Dane's Refuge looked promising. A fired blazed in the large hearth, and the place bustled with people. The smell of roasted meat wafted out from the kitchen, and musicians played on the landing up above the common room. When Duncan went to inquire about rooms for the night, Rhianna turned to Solona.

"What are their names? Your cousins, I mean. Where do you think we should start looking?"

"Start looking? What are you talking about?"

"You said they live here in Lothering, right? Or did, the last time you heard anything about them. Don't you want to try and find them?"

"Oh." She blinked. "Yes, well, maybe. I mean, yes, definitely. I'd love to see them if they're still here." She bit her bottom lip. "I just don't know if they'll want to see me."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen them in years and years. I hardly remember them, to be honest. Maybe they'd just rather not have anything to do with me? Besides," Solona glanced at the staff strapped to her back, "in case you haven't noticed, people are already staring at me. I don't want to draw any unwanted attention to them, not with my cousin's husband being an apostate."

It was true; people had noticed Solona's attire. "I see what you mean about attention. But I can't imagine they wouldn't want to see you. You're family, after all." She paused. "If you like, you could stay here with Duncan, and I'll go out into the town and see if I can find out anything about them."

"You'd do that? You really wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not. What is the family name?"

"Hawke. Malcolm and Leandra Hawke. And they have three children. Josefina, Bethany and Carver."

"All right. When Duncan returns, just let him know where I've gone. I'll be back as soon as I find out anything interesting." She handed the girl her backpack. "In the meantime, why don't you change out of those robes, and into some of my clothes. You'll blend in better that way. I probably should have suggested this before we came into town."

"That's a good idea." Solona smiled warmly. "Thank you."

Rhianna walked out of the inn into the sunlight, not entirely sure where to start looking. Solona was right about not drawing unwelcome attention, and Rhianna didn't want to ask the wrong people and risk trouble. So, first, she strolled around to get the lay of the land. She crossed the bridge that connected the north and the south sections of town, and saw the Chantry to her left. A templar stood watch at the door. Best not to ask there.

She continued toward the south end of town, and discovered there were even more people here than she'd originally thought. A refugee camp had sprung up in what had obviously been open fields until recently, with tents, and cots, and bedrolls laid out directly on the ground. People fleeing the darkspawn, no doubt. Did this mean the creatures had started coming out of the Korcari Wilds, in spite of the king's efforts to stop them?

Rhianna turned north again. Surely, none of the refugees would be able to help, and she didn't want to ask town guards either. She crossed back over the bridge, and spotted an elderly woman in conversation with a woman and her young son. A man carrying some wooden planks walked by and greeted her, and she smiled warmly and called back to him by name. This woman had the look of being well known in town; perhaps she would be a good person to ask about the Hawke family.

"Good day, my lady," Rhianna said, when the mother and her son had walked away.

"Good day to you, my dear." The older woman gave a genuine smile that lit up her eyes, and coughed into her hand. "You got a bed for the night? You taken care of?" Ah, so perhaps this woman was also helping the refugees.

"I'm fine, thank you. I'm well equipped to camp if there's nowhere else to stay. But I appreciate the thought. I was wondering, do you live here in Lothering? You haven't just arrived recently?"

"I've lived here my whole life. What brings you to Lothering, my girl?"

"Me and my companions are just passing through on our way to Ostagar."

"Ah. Well, you're moving against the tide, that much is certain. Off to join up with the king's army, then?"

"Yes."

"May the Maker bless you for that. News from the south has been . . . troubling of late. To say the least. My name is Miriam, by the way."

"I'm Rhianna. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"So, you're not in search of lodgings. Is there something else you needed? You have the look of someone with a question to ask."

Rhianna smiled. "I do have a question." She stepped closer and spoke softly. "I'm wondering if you can tell me if a family still lives in the area. They're called Hawke, and a friend of mine would like very much to see them, if they haven't moved away."

Miriam's eyes narrowed slightly. "And just what is it that your friend wants with the Hawkes, may I ask?"

"She's a cousin of theirs. Her name is Amell?"

"Amell, did you say? Hmnh. Well, you certainly don't look like a templar, that's in your favor." The woman inhaled deeply, and let the breath out again very slowly. "The Hawkes still live here. Outside of town. Go north, and then west. There's a house there, small but well kept. You should find Leandra there."

"Thank you, Miriam. I appreciate this."

Rhianna had no trouble locating the house, and knocked on the door. After a long wait, it was opened by a handsome, dark-skinned woman with graying hair that curled down to her shoulders. She didn't smile, and her eyes regarded Rhianna with suspicion.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Leandra Hawke?"

"I am." She glanced at Dane, who sat on his haunches and wagged his stub of a tail. "And who are you?"

"My name is Rhianna. I've come here on behalf of a friend of mine. Her name is Solona Amell."

The woman's eyes grew wide."Solona? Revka's daughter?"

"I suppose so. I don't know her mother's name."

"She's all right, I hope. Nothing's happened to her?"

"No. Well, yes, something's happened, but she's fine. She's here, actually. In Lothering. We're on our way to Ostagar, so we'll only be here a short time. But she'd like to come and see you, and the rest of the family, if that's all right with you?"

The woman smiled broadly, and tiny creases formed at her eyes. "Yes. That would be wonderful. It's only Bethany and me here right now, though. My other two children are at Ostagar, with the king's army."

"And what about your husband? Malcolm?"

"Malcolm died three years ago, I'm afraid. Solona didn't know?"

"No. She wasn't even sure you'd still be living here. It had been a while since she'd had news."

"But why is she here? And not at the Circle?"

"Perhaps I should let her explain that herself?"

"Of course. Why don't the two of you come back just after dark. We'll have dinner together, all of us. Do you need a place to stay? I expect the inn is full up. You're more than welcome to stay the night here, as well, both of you, and your hound."

"We have another companion with us, as well. The Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden. Would it be all right if he came along?"

After moment of hesitation, she replied, "Of course. I see no reason that would be a problem." She paused. "Just . . . please . . . if you could ask Solona to . . . oh, I hate having to say this."

"To make sure it's not obvious that she's a mage?"

Leandra smiled, and the tension went out of her shoulders. "You understand. Yes. I wish it didn't have to be like that, but I have to be careful, that's all." She shook her head. "Revka's daughter, here in Lothering. I never expected to see her again." She chuckled softly. "Thank you for coming, and I'll see you again this evening."

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna returned to Dane's Refuge to discover Duncan and Solona huddled together at a small table in the corner. Solona wore one of Rhianna's shirts and a pair of her trousers, and her staff rested against the wall, with a cloth tied over the top to make it look like a bindle for carrying her gear. Rhianna pulled over a chair from a nearby table and joined them.

"Unfortunately," Duncan began, "I was unable to secure a room for the night. Too many refugees have come from the south, and there isn't a bed to be had in the whole of the town, according to the innkeeper. So, we'll just find what supplies we can, and then camp outside the city."

"That won't be necessary," Rhianna said. "I've found a place for us to stay." She turned to Solona. "I found your family, and we've been invited to dinner and to spend the night. All of us."

"You found them?" Her face lit up like a beacon. "That's . . . oh, Rhianna, that's wonderful! I honestly hadn't thought they'd still be here." She turned to Duncan. "We can stay the night with them, can't we?"

Duncan lifted a brow, and shrugged a shoulder. "Of course. I didn't realize you had family here in town."

"I wasn't sure if they still lived here, so I didn't mention it. Rhianna was the one who brought it up, actually. I'd told her about them days ago, and she thought we should see if they were still here."

"Well, that works out well, doesn't it?" he replied.

"That monster killed three families!" The voice of a man at a nearby table rose above the din and caught their attention. "Tore them up like a beast. The cage is too good for him, but it's the Chantry's idea of mercy."

Rhianna and Solona shared a glance. "They're talking about that man, aren't they?" the mage murmured. "The Qunari we saw earlier."

"Yes," Duncan agreed. "It seems they are."

"He didn't seem like a murderer," Rhianna mused aloud.

"Such things are not always readily apparent," Duncan said.

That was certainly true. Rhianna had never guessed that Rendon Howe would be capable of murdering her entire family, and he'd done just that.

A weight settled in her stomach at the memory of what had happened in Highever, and she no longer wanted to be here, sitting in this inn, surrounded by people and their tavern gossip and talk of dark deeds.

She pushed herself up out of the chair. "I'm going to wander around town again," Rhianna told her companions.

"Do you want some company?" Solona asked.

"No, thank you." Rhianna didn't want to impose her dark mood on anyone else. "I think I might go to the Chantry and light some candles."

Yes. This is exactly what she would do. Light candles, and listen to whatever verse of the Chant of Light was being read. Perhaps she would find something there that would be of comfort.

"I'll be back before night falls," she promised.

The Chantry was by far the largest building in town, larger even than the inn. Compared to the noisy bustle in the streets of Lothering, there were surprisingly few people inside the Chantry. A few sisters going about their business, and two templars in conversation. Not only was it quieter, but the change in atmosphere was palpable. It felt lighter here, and more peaceful, without the tension and dread that seemed to hang in the air in the rest of town.

Near the altar, a lay brother stood and read a passage from Transfigurations:

" _These truths the Maker has revealed to me:_  
 _As there is but one world, o_ _ne life, one death.  
There is b_ _ut one god, and He is our Maker._

_They are sinners, who have given their love t_ _o false gods."_ _  
_

Rhianna slid into one of the wooden pews.

_"All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,_   
_From the lowest slaves to the highest kings."_

She sat back on the bench and tried to relax, but found her jaw clenched, and her hands balled into fists.

What was she doing here, listening to a verse from the Chant? There is one god, and he is our Maker? But what good was that, when the Maker didn't care what went on down here? He had withdrawn himself from the world, more than once. The Chant spoke of sinners worshipping false gods, but even those who worshipped the Maker faithfully still suffered.

" _Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children_  
 _Are hated and accursed by the Maker."_

Really? Then why hadn't the Maker done something to stop Rendon Howe from murdering her family?

_"All things in this world are finite._   
_What one man gains, another has lost._   
_Those who steal from their brothers and sisters_   
_Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind._  
 _Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart."_ __  


More foolishness. What good did the Maker's "heavy heart" do anyone? Rhianna had no time for a cruel, remote god who cared nothing for the suffering of the children he was supposed to love.

She let out a ragged sigh. Why had she even come? What comfort could possibly be had here?

Rhianna's eyes alit on the statue of Andraste that stood beside the altar. In her hands, the Prophet held a longsword: the Sword of Mercy. Andraste was associated with mercy, even though it was not the mercy she gave, but that which she received that featured so prominently in her story. The mercy delivered by Archon Hessarian - one of the magisters who decreed she should burn. At the very end, he'd seen the truth in her words, and become unwilling for Andraste to suffer, and put his sword through her heart as she stood on the pyre.

Still, Rhianna did believe Andraste was merciful, and that she had cared, had truly cared, about her people. She cared so much, she'd allowed herself to be sacrificed on their behalf. Andraste was worthy of Rhianna's worship, even if the Maker was not. And perhaps the Beloved Prophet would have mercy to spare for a girl in such desperate need of it.

But was there anything Andraste could do to help those who lived in this world? It was said she sat at the side of the Maker, but what good would that do, if the Maker didn't care?

Perhaps Andraste could help. What was it the Divine had said to her, when Rhianna visited Orlais?

_There is a light in you, that shines very brightly. But surrounding you, so much darkness. You will need to be strong in order to conquer it. But do not be afraid, for Andraste will be with you. The Beloved Prophet will be at your side, and will not just watch from afar, but will touch your life in a way she has touched few others._

Surrounded by darkness. That certainly seemed to be prophetic. There was nothing but darkness in every direction now. But if Divine had spoken the truth, did that mean Andraste was near, as well? That seemed too much to hope for, that Andraste would spare even a thought for Rhianna.

Rhianna looked up at the statue, and the words of the Chant fell upon her ears. What if Andraste did care? What if she cared, and listened. What if there was something she could do to help?

Perhaps Rhianna would pray. It couldn't hurt, anyway. She clasped her hands together in her lap, closed her eyes, and bowed her head in silent prayer.

_Blessed Andraste. I'm not sure what to say, but here I am anyway._

_I miss them so much and I don't know how to stop feeling empty and dead inside. I don't understand why they were taken away. I don't understand what you want from me, and I don't understand . . . much of anything right now. But I'm trying my best._

_Please help me. Please help me to do my best, and to cope with everything that's happened, and to be strong for whatever it is I'm meant to do next. If there is some way I can do good, please help me to do it._

_And please be with King Cailan, and Loghain, and the Grey Wardens, and all the soldiers at Ostagar. Keep them safe as they battle the darkspawn. Please be at our sides as we fight to protect your beloved Ferelden from this Blight._

"Thank you," she said aloud, and opened her eyes. For a few more minutes, she sat and listened to the Chant, not hearing the words, but just letting them wash over her instead.

Then, she stood, and crossed to a bank of votives on shelves between a pair of columns. She would light candles for those she had lost. After dropping several coins in the donation box, she took up a lit taper, and touched its flame to the wick of an unlit candle, and then another, and another. Each burst into light in turn: for her mother, her father, Oriana, Oren, Nan, for all the others who died that night in Highever. Finally, she lit one for Fergus, for protection rather than remembrance, as she clung desperately to the hope that he might still be alive.

She replaced the taper in its holder, and stared over the little row of flames she had created as they burned brightly for people she had loved and lost. As her vision stared to blur with tears, someone come to stand beside her. She turned to see a Chantry sister smiling at her.

"I am so glad you are here." The woman spoke with a faint but unmistakable Orlesian accent. She was young – probably not yet thirty - and pretty, with pale skin and red hair trimmed to hang just above her shoulders. Her smile was warm and friendly, as though she greeted a long lost friend, but Rhianna was fairly certain she had never seen this woman before.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Have we met?"

"No. We have not met before."

"Then why are you glad I'm here?" Did Rhianna need to be careful, even here in the Chantry? Perhaps Howe had decided that guards on the road wouldn't get the job done, and he'd sent an assassin of a different sort.

The woman gave a soft chuckle. "I am glad because I can see that you are in pain. Something has hurt you very much. And this," she gestured to the building around them, "the Chantry, taking refuge in Andraste - this is where you will find the help you need to get through whatever it is that troubles you. Andraste can soothe all of your pain. This is why I am glad you are here. You have come exactly where you needed to come, to find peace."

The sister was so earnest, with her open face and her familiar manner, Rhianna felt foolish for thinking this Chantry sister might've been some sort of assassin. And perhaps the woman was right. Certainly, Rhianna must have believed there was something here for her, or she wouldn't have come in the first place.

Even so, she wasn't sure what to say in response to the woman's words.

"Thank you?" she managed after a moment.

"Things will be better for you soon. I am sure of it. The Maker will never burden you with more than you can carry."

The woman placed her hand on Rhianna's shoulder and squeezed gently, and then left Rhianna alone with her thoughts once again.

Things will be better? What did that mean? What things would be better? No amount of time spent praying in the Chantry would bring her family back. And the Maker had already burdened her with what seemed an unbearable load.

To be honest, she wasn't even sure what she wanted from the future. Beating the darkspawn at Ostagar would be good, and protecting Ferelden from being ravaged by those tainted creatures. But beyond that, what? When Rhianna looked ahead, past whatever might happen at Ostagar, there was nothing but darkness. Not even any hint of what her life would look like in the future, assuming there was a future.

She'd be a Grey Warden, but where would she live? What activities would fill her days? What people would be her companions, her friends, her lovers? She simply could not imagine anything beyond the immediate problem of stopping the darkspawn. In truth, she could barely imagine even that.

Best not to think about any of it. Not yet. It was all she could do to get through a single day at a time. The future would take care of itself.

But when she left the Chantry, and made her way back to Dane's Refuge, she did feel better. Just a bit. As if something had lifted - a cloud, perhaps, allowing a small ray of light to penetrate the darkness in which she'd been walking since she left Highever. Was it because she had prayed? Had Andraste noticed, and sent some bit of something good her way? Or perhaps it was the kindness of the Chantry sister.

It hardly mattered what caused it. She was grateful for even a small respite from the grief that surrounded her. Even if it would descend again soon enough, for now, she was grateful.

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, and Amanda Kitswell, as well as to all my reviewers: Irish_Changeling, Vicky79, KatDancer, and Riptide. 
> 
> Originally, I had intended for the next chapter to get us to Ostagar, but I've decided on a slight change of plans. I managed to get the first half of their adventures in Lothering ready to publish today, but the second half still needs a lot of work. So, I've split it into two parts, so you could have this section, at least, as soon as possible. As a result, Chapter 9 will be an evening with the Hawkes, and in Chapter 10, we'll arrive in Ostagar.


	9. We'll cross that bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona is reunited with Leandra and Bethany Hawke.

__**25 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Lothering** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Just as the sun slipped down beneath the horizon, and the last warm colors of the sunset faded into a deep, rich blue, Solona Amell knocked on the door of a house that stood on the outskirts of Lothering.

The door opened just a crack at first, but then swung wide, to reveal Leandra Hawke with a broad smile on her face.

"Solona? Is that really you?"

"Cousin Leandra?"

The older woman stepped forward, and pulled Solona into her arms. After a brief hesitation, Solona returned the embrace, as Rhianna and Duncan looked on.

"Let me get a good look at you," Leandra said after she pulled away, and took both of Solona's hands in her own. "Maker's breath, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? And you look so much like your mother." A smile lit up her entire face. "I'm so happy you're here. I honestly never have expected to see you again."

Something about that smile, and the warmth in Leandra's voice, reminded Rhianna of her own mother, and a wave of grief washed over her. Turning her face away, Rhianna looked out at the windmill as she willed the feeling away; she would not do or say anything that might spoil this reunion for Solona and her family.

"I never expected to be here," Solona replied, "but it's so good to meet you. Well, to see you again, I mean. I know we've met before, when I was small, although to be honest, I only barely remember."

Leandra chuckled. "It's been so many years, and you were very young the last time we met. You can hardly be expected to remember any of us." She stepped back, and gestured for them all to enter the house. "Please, come in, all of you. And welcome." She nodded to Rhianna. "It's good to see you again, and your hound."

"Thank you." As Rhianna came through the door, she found herself in a prettily decorated sitting room, with comfortable furniture, and shelves filled with books, and a vase of flowers on the table.

Solana rested her hand on Duncan's arm. "Cousin Leandra, I'd like you to meet Duncan. He's the Commander of the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ser," Leandra replied.

"And you, as well," he said with slight bow. "Thank you for inviting us into your home."

"You're more than welcome." She turned to the end of the room opposite the front door. "Bethany? Come here, darling, and say hello to our guests."

Leandra's daughter stood at the far end of the sitting room, and took a hesitant step closer, but didn't cross the room to join them. She was gorgeous, with large brown eyes, and mahogany skin, and black hair that curled gently down to her shoulders.

"Hello," she said to Solona, with a tentative smile. "I suppose we're cousins, as well?"

"I suppose so," Solona said.

They regarded one another almost warily for the space of a few breaths. Then, simultaneously, both girls moved forward and met in the middle of the room. With beaming smiles, they threw their arms around one another, while Leandra looked on with a bright smile and shining eyes.

"I've never had a cousin before," Bethany said. "Not one who came to visit, at any rate. It's wonderful to meet you."

Dinner was a cheerful affair, and delicious: chicken and dumplings in gravy, fresh bread and preserves, and vegetables from the garden. Leandra and Bethany spoke of their life in Lothering, and Solona told the story of how she'd come to leave the Circle Tower, and soon all the food was gone, and port was served all around as they settled in for an evening of conversation.

"So," Leandra asked, "You'll be leaving in the morning for Ostagar?"

"Yes," Duncan replied. "I hope to make it to the city four days from now."

Leandra turned to Solona. "Once you arrive, you'll have to find Carver and Jo. I know they'll want to meet you."

"Yes, I'll definitely do that. I want very much to meet them, as well."

"Are they members of the Lothering Regulars?" Rhianna asked.

"No," Leandra replied. "Carver's talked about joining the regular army from time to time, but he and Jo are volunteers at the moment. I expect he might decide to become a career soldier after this. Not Jo, though. I'm sure her interests lie elsewhere."

Solona turned to Bethany. "Why didn't you go with them?"

"Me?" The young woman's forehead creased. "Oh, well, I don't have any skill with a sword, so I . . . I wouldn't be of much use in the fighting. Besides, I didn't like the thought of Mother being here all on her own."

Something about Bethany's answer, her hesitation, sparked Rhianna's curiosity. Was there some other reason she wasn't saying?

"And glad I am of it," Leandra added. "I'd have been nervous here on my own. There are so many refugees in town now, and only a few soldiers left behind after Bann Ceorlic marched south to join the King."

"Have there been many problems?" Rhianna asked.

"Nothing too serious," Leandra replied. "Vegetables stolen out of the garden overnight, and I can't hang clothes out to dry without them disappearing. Not that I blame people for taking things. They've left their homes with nothing more than what they can carry on their backs, and nothing can be had at decent prices. Profiteers showed up just behind the first wave of refugees, and it's become almost impossible to make ends meet, even for those of us who still have our homes."

"I've tried to convince her that we should go somewhere else, somewhere farther from the Wilds," Bethany said. "Oswin or Rainesfere, perhaps. Just until the war is over."

"I'm not leaving Lothering, Bethy," Leandra replied. "This is our home, and besides, do you want Carver and Jo to return and have no idea where we've gone?" Without waiting for an answer, Leandra turned to Duncan. "How long do you think it will take to defeat the darkspawn? We hear nothing but rumors, and I never know what's true."

"It's difficult to say for certain, but King Cailan has taken the threat seriously, and is gathering a sizable force of soldiers from across Ferelden."

"And with Loghain Mac Tir at the head of the army," Rhianna added, "we'll have the best possible chance of ending this quickly. There is no better strategist in all of Thedas. If anyone can lead the army to victory, it's Loghain."

"True," Duncan agreed. "And with the help of the Grey Wardens being sent from Orlais, I do believe we will be able to defeat the darkspawn and end this Blight in a reasonable amount of time."

"Grey Wardens are coming from Orlais?" Solona asked.

"Yes," Duncan replied. "I believe they intend to send two hundred Wardens, along with several legions of chevaliers."

"Chevaliers?" Leandra raised a brow.

"Of course." Duncan replied. "They are skilled warriors, some of the finest in Thedas."

"Be that as it may," the older woman replied, "that doesn't mean they'll be welcome here in Ferelden."

"That's exactly what I've tried to tell him," Rhianna said. The subject had come up earlier in their travels, and Rhianna had made the same argument. "We don't need chevaliers, and the people of Ferelden won't want them here." She turned to Duncan. "I can tell you without a doubt that Loghain will not agree to such a thing. Nor will my brother."

"Your brother?" Leandra asked. "Who is your brother?"

Oh, damn. It probably would have been better not to mention her family. But it was too late for that now.

"Fergus Cousland." Saying his name conjured an image of him in her mind, along with the familiar dread that accompanied any thought of him. Where was he now? Had he made it safely to Ostagar?

"You're . . . you're Rhianna Cousland?" Leandra's eyes grew wide. "And you're joining the Grey Wardens?" She paused. "I did hear a rumor that something had happened in Highever. That the teyrn and teyrna . . ." Her voice trailed off. "Oh, my dear." She moved to sit beside Rhianna, and took one of her hands. "I'm so sorry about what happened to your family."

"Thank you." Rhianna returned a gentle pressure on Leandra's hand, and breathed through the heat that had sprung up behind her eyes. "At any rate, my brother will be Teyrn of Highever as soon as the king learns what happened. And Fergus will not want chevaliers here." She glanced at Duncan. "Maric wouldn't have allowed it, either."

"You may be right about King Maric," Duncan shrugged. "He was supportive of the Grey Wardens, but ever distrustful of Orlais. Fortunately for us, his son is much more amenable to working with the Orlesians." He arched a brow. "I'm surprised, actually, that you're so averse to the idea, Rhianna. Wasn't your . . . friend in Orlais the son of a chevalier?"

Rhianna's lips tightened. That was an awkward question. She shouldn't be surprised that Duncan knew about Gauvain; he'd seen the kiss Rhianna and Gauvain had shared at the dock. Even so, it was uncomfortable. Leandra glanced at Rhianna, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully; no doubt, the woman had caught the tone of Duncan's question, and realized that this "friend" was really a lover.

Not that it mattered. Rhianna wasn't ashamed of any of it. "Yes." She lifted her chin. "Gauvain's father was a chevalier. One who died while attacking Ferelden, at the Battle of River Dane." Rhianna loved Gauvain, but that didn't mean she had any loyalty to his father, and of course, she'd never forgotten what Loghain had told her about the way his own mother had died. "If anything, that just goes to show why chevaliers shouldn't be allowed to return to Ferelden. As far as I know, we've never had any peaceful interactions with them."

"I agree," Leandra began. "The idea of chevaliers here makes me very uncomfortable. I didn't live in Ferelden during the Occupation, but we heard a great many stories about it in Kirkwall. Many of them first hand, from people who fled the country trying to avoid the things chevaliers were doing. From the sound of it, they're were even more difficult to control than the templars."

Bethany drew in a sharp breath. "Worse than templars? That sounds . . . ominous."

"The armies the king has assembled may not be sufficient to defeat the darkspawn." Duncan's voice was firm. "Chevaliers are needed if we are to stop this Blight before it truly gets started."

"I thought it was Grey Wardens who were crucial in fighting the darkspawn," Solona said. "Not chevaliers."

"They bring different skills to the battlefield," Duncan said. "And I worry that even with two hundred Wardens from Orlais, we won't have enough to successfully face this horde."

"How many Grey Wardens are already at Ostagar?" Bethany asked.

"Not including myself, there are twenty-two in Ferelden," Duncan replied, "and two recruits waiting for us to return, in addition to Solona and Rhianna."

"Only twenty-two? In all of Ferelden? Why are there so few?" Leandra asked.

A reasonable question. Rhianna had always thought it odd that Duncan had been able to recruit only two dozen in nearly as many years.

"The Wardens were expelled from Ferelden two centuries ago," Duncan replied, "and were only allowed back in your country by King Maric in the last twenty years," Duncan replied. "Since then, it's not been easy to recruit people into the order. They remember the stories about Sophia Dryden, and her attempted coup against King Arland."

"Even so, many people still consider the Wardens heroes," Rhianna said. "Ser Gilmore - one of the knights in Highever - was quite keen to join. Surely, there must be others like him."

"True enough," Duncan relaxed back on the sofa, "but not all those who wish to join have what it takes to become members of the order." He regarded Rhianna through narrowed eyes, and she sensed that he had come to the end of his willingness to talk about Grey Warden business.

She knew better than to press him, even though this talk of allowing chevaliers into Ferelden still made her deeply uncomfortable. If they were allowed to cross the borders, what guarantee would there be that they would leave again after the Blight? She would wait, though, and see if she could get a better answer out of him some other time.

"I suppose I don't remember there being many Grey Wardens in Kirkwall, either, now that you mention it," Leandra said. "It sounds as though there are more of them in Orlais than anywhere else?"

"Orlais, and the Anderfels, have the greatest number," Duncan confirmed. "But there are Wardens in most other nations as well. In the Free Marches, their stronghold is in Ansburg, so they don't have a particularly large presence in Kirkwall."

Solona leaned forward. "You seem to know a lot about Orlais, Duncan. Is that where you were born?"

"No. I was raised in Orlais, but as a matter of fact, I was born here in Ferelden. In Highever, actually."

"Highever?" Rhianna was surprised he'd never mentioned that before.

"Yes, although I don't remember much about those early years. We moved to Val Royeaux when I was very young."

"And have you been to many other places, too? Traveling with the Grey Wardens," Solona asked.

"I suppose I have," he agreed. "I've been to Orzammar, and Nevarra, and Antiva. The farthest I've gone is to Weisshaupt, the Grey Warden fortress in the Anderfels."

Bethany's eyes grew wide. "The Anderfels? That's a long way away, on the edge of Tevinter."

"Yes, but I've never been in Tevinter itself."

"Will you tell us more about the Grey Warden fortress?" Solona sounded like a little girl asking for a treat, much as Rhianna had once asked Loghain for stories. That thought brought with it an ache in her chest.

"Yes," Bethany seconded. "I'd be interested to hear more about that, as well. The whole idea of it sounds so . . . mysterious."

Duncan lifted a brow. "You want to hear about Weisshaupt?"

"Yes, please," Solona replied.

"All right." He chuckled. "It's an ancient fortress high up in the Anderfel Mountains, where the Grey Wardens were formed during the First Blight, and to this day it remains the headquarters for the order. There are at least a thousand Grey Wardens living there, including the First Warden. I traveled there only one time - it is high in the mountains, and the Anderfels are notoriously rugged and cold, even during the summer, so reaching the fortress is no easy task."

"Why live there, then?" Solona wondered aloud. "Why not move somewhere more accessible?"

"Historically, because those mountains, and the Hunterhorns nearby, are the only places where griffons could breed, and the Wardens used them as mounts. Sadly, griffons became extinct some time after the Fourth Blight, but I don't think the Wardens will ever abandon Weisshaupt. There's a rich history there worth preserving."

"Why did griffons become extinct?" Bethany asked.

"Darkspawn killed a great many of them during the Blight; they were targeted deliberately, because they were so effective at flying overhead and attacking from above. After the Blight, there weren't enough of the creatures left to rebuild their population, and they died out."

"Are they sure all the griffons are gone?" Solona asked, echoing Rhianna's own thought on the matter. "That would be such a shame. It would be marvelous to see one."

"There are rumors, from time to time," Duncan replied, "of griffons being sighted. None that has ever been verified, though, and Wardens have searched those mountains for centuries, and never found any sign that they survived."

Rhianna remembered the map Loghain had given her, with its little griffon drawn near the mountains, and how she'd joked that someday she would go searching for griffons. Of course, she'd intended to go on that adventure with Loghain. One of so many adventures she'd believed they would have together.

"Rhianna?" Leandra reached over and rested a hand on Rhianna's leg. "Is something wrong?"

Rhianna blinked. She must have allowed something of her grim thoughts to show on her face. She forced a smile. "No. No, of course not. Nothing's wrong. It's just sad to think the griffons are all gone. And, I'll admit that when I was younger, I had an idea to go looking for them in those mountains, someday. It was a childish fantasy, though."

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying childhood fancies," the older woman said. "Although sometimes they do come crashing down when the realities of life set in."

Solona turned to Leandra. "What about you, Cousin?" she asked. "Have you been many places?"

"When I was young, I traveled with my family a bit. Throughout most of the Free Marches, and Nevarra, as well. And I was to Antiva once, when I was just a bit younger than Bethany is now." She chuckled. "It was terrifying. I spent the whole time worrying about assassins, although the food was delightful."

Rhianna couldn't help but smile; Leandra's account of Antiva was so similar to what Loghain had said about the place . . . somewhere else Loghain had promised to take her, someday. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, this was fairly insignificant, considering the other promises he'd made and broken. Like the promise to take her to Gwaren. Her smile faded, and the ache grew stronger. Her vision blurred, but she willed away the tears. No. She would not allow herself to cry. She had not allowed herself any tears, not since Highever, and she wasn't about to start now, and ruin everyone else's evening.

To distract herself from thoughts of Loghain, she asked Leandra, "Have you been to Starkhaven? I was there once, several years ago."

"Yes," Leandra replied. "I was to Starkhaven many times. My family was friendly with the Vaels." Oh, that's right. Solona had mentioned something about an uncle of hers being passed over as Viscount; the Amells must have been noblity at one time.

"I met the Vaels, once," Rhianna mused. "The youngest son, Sebastian, made quite an impression on me. He was rather . . . scandalous, to be honest."

"Scandalous?" Solona asked. "In what way?"

"He was . . . well, I came upon him in the palace garden, during a party my mother and I had attended. He was kissing some people. Two other people. At the same time. And then he invited me to join them. Of course, I refused."

"I don't find that surprising at all," Leandra chuckled. "From what I remember, his father, Magnus, was wild in his youth, as well. Although he was more careful to keep quiet about it. I doubt he'd have been caught in the palace garden during one of  _his_  father's parties. Sebastian is a younger son, is he not?"

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "He's the youngest of four children, if I remember correctly."

"If he hasn't grown out of such things by now, he's likely to end up being forced to take Chantry vows. That's happened more than once in the history of the Vael family, from what I can recall."

Solona relaxed back into the sofa, with a wistful sigh. "I think it's so exciting that you've all seen so many places. I hope someday I'll be able to travel outside of Ferelden. Although I suppose there's still a lot of Ferelden itself for me to see before that happens."

"I wish I _hadn't_  seen quite so many places," Bethany lamented. "I mean, I suppose traveling for pleasure would be all right, but having to leave home in a hurry and never come back isn't much fun."

"That's true," Leandra agreed. "But we've had good luck here in Lothering. Ten years now with no real troubles."

No troubles. Clearly, they were still worried about being found by the templars, though.

Except . . . that didn't make much sense. Malcolm died three years ago. So what did they have to fear from the templars? Unless . . .

Maker's breath.

Rhianna glanced at Bethany. Was she a mage, like her father had been? That would explain why they were still so wary.

Best not to ask about it, though. Not here, in front of Duncan. He wanted more mages for the Grey Wardens; what if he decided to recruit Bethany, even against her will? Rhianna would ask later, in private, if the opportunity arose.

"That's true," Bethany replied. "But now, with the darkspawn in the south . . ." The young woman bit her bottom lip. "I just have the feeling we won't be able to stay here much longer. I know you don't want to leave, Mother, but what if we have to?"

"We'll cross that bridge  _if_  we come to it," Leandra replied.

‹›‹O›‹›

The evening passed quickly, and all too soon, Rhianna, Solona and Bethany retired to the room Bethany and Josefina shared, where the three girls and Dane would spend the night. It was a cozy room, small but comfortable, and Rhianna and Solona shared Josefina's bed, while Dane curled up on the rug in front of the door.

Rhianna glanced around, intrigued by some of the things she saw on a slightly cluttered desk in the corner.

"Oh," Bethany said, when she noticed where Rhianna was looking, "don't mind the mess. That's Jo's desk. She's always studying some new thing or another." On the desk was a pair of beautiful candlesticks made from carved ram's horns, with silverwork that had scrolled designs that looked Nevarran, to Rhianna's eye. There was also an ornate iron pen, and a series of small carved stones lined up along the edge of the desk, with what looked like carving tools placed neatly alongside.

"Your sister carves runes?" Solona asked.

"Yes. Our father taught her how. Well, he taught us both, but Jo is much better at it than I am. Her carvings always turn out so beautifully."

Rune carving? "What are they for?"

"It's a form of magic, actually," Solona answered. "And if I'm not mistaken, those are Tevinter symbols?"

"Yes," Bethany confirmed. "I'm not sure where our father learned them; he never visited Tevinter, as far as I know, but he always said they were the most powerful of the runes he had been taught. And yes, they're a way of performing very simple magic - protective spells, and the like."

Magic?

"Is Jo a mage?"

"No, she isn't," Bethany replied. "You don't have to be a mage to craft runes."

As the three women got ready for bed, Rhianna slipped into her nightgown, pleased to have the chance to wear it, since she slept in her clothes when they camped outdoors.

Even though Duncan had made it clear he intended to leave very early the next morning, it was obvious none of the three young women were particularly interested in going right to sleep. So once the candles had been put out and they'd climbed into their respective beds, they all lay on their stomachs and faced one another, to talk a while longer.

Solona turned to Rhianna and whispered, "Now that we're alone, there's something I want to ask. You mentioned a man in Orlais? Or rather, Duncan mentioned him. What's his name? Is he your beau?"

"Yes," Bethany nodded. "I wondered the same thing. Tell us about him?"

"You really want to hear about that?" Their eager smiles showed that yes, they definitely wanted to hear. "All right," Rhianna agreed, as her cheeks grew warm. "Yes, there's a man in Orlais, and his name is Gauvain. But he isn't my beau. Not anymore. He was, but . . . well, it just wasn't possible for us to stay together."

"What?" Bethany frowned. "Why not?"

"Because he's Orlesian." That really was the easiest explanation. "There's more to it than that, of course, but that's what it boils down to. He's the empress' cousin, and there were political reasons why it would have been a bad idea for me to stay there with him."

"Were you in love with him?" Solona asked.

"Yes." Rhianna bit her bottom lip. "Yes. I was. I suppose I still am, to be honest."

"Will you go back to Orlais someday?" Bethany asked, "To see him again?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I'd love to see him again. I'd love to . . . be with him, again. But he lives there, and I live here. And I'm going to be a Grey Warden." Her brow creased. "Even if I might have found a way to make it work between us, any plans I once had for the future are all . . . different now."

"Oh." Solona wrinkled her nose. "I hadn't thought of it like that, what being a Grey Warden will mean. Not that it matters to me. Life in the Circle wasn't . . . horrible, but I always felt sort of trapped. Like there was so much out in the world I wanted to see. So for me, this is probably the best thing that could have happened. I didn't lose anything. But you . . . you're just the opposite, aren't you? You lost . . . everything."

Before Rhianna could think of a response, Bethany turned to Solona. "You weren't happy living in the Circle?"

"Not really. I mean, it's not that I was unhappy, exactly. Most of the time, it was all right. Except when it wasn't." Solona shrugged her shoulders. "I am glad to be away from there, though."

Bethany didn't say anything; she merely nodded, but it was clear the woman had more than a passing interest in Solona's experiences at the Circle.

"Bethany," Rhianna began. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Are you . . . well, you're a mage aren't you? I hope it's not rude to come out and ask like that, but . . . well, I wondered about it earlier. Otherwise, why would your mother be so worried about templars, now that your father is gone?"

"Oh." Bethany made an amused sound in her throat. "I spend so much time being careful when I'm out in the world, I suppose I'm not always the best at hiding things when I'm here at home. But I don't mind the question. And yes, I am a mage."

"I'd guessed as much, too," Solona said, "but I didn't want to ask, just in case you didn't want all of us to know."

"I appreciate that. I don't mind the two of you knowing. I'm not so sure about Duncan, though. He seemed a bit, well, I don't know." She turned Rhianna. "The way he brought up your friend in Orlais was rather . . . abrupt. So I'm glad it didn't come up during dinner, especially since that's the real reason I didn't go with Carver and Jo to Ostagar."

Solana frowned. "But I don't understand - why wouldn't you go to Ostagar? The king wants more mages to help fight the darkspawn."

"I don't think the king wants mages like me. Apostates? What would happen the first time a templar saw me doing magic? I can't risk something like that, not after everything my family has gone through to keep me safe, and out of the Circle." She bit at her bottom lip. "Although sometimes I wonder if they wouldn't have been better off if I'd gone to the Circle after Father died."

Solona's eyes grew wide. "Don't say that. The Circle . . . it's not a good place. It really isn't." Rhianna glanced at Solona. There was something in her voice, an intensity that hadn't been there before. As though now she were free of it, the idea of going back scared her.

Had bad things happened to her there? More than just the sorts of things Rhianna had seen: the lack of privacy, the templars watching all the time, the threat of being made Tranquil. What was it she'd said? That most of the time it was all right, except when it wasn't. What did that mean?

"Perhaps not," Bethany replied, "but it's . . . well it's a lot of work to keep from being noticed by the templars. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to turn myself in."

"Please don't do that," Solona said, her voice earnest. "Please. Don't."

Bethany didn't respond, other than to nod her head slowly.

"How did you manage that, anyway? Staying away from the templars, I mean," Rhianna asked. "I saw several of them today, in the few hours I walked around town."

"It's just something I've always done. From the time that my magic began to appear, Father made certain I knew how to keep myself hidden. Hardly anyone in town knows the truth about me, and I'm careful never to use magic where anyone can see. I go to Chantry services as often as possible, too. People aren't as suspicious when they see you going to services regularly. I don't mind, though. One of the lay sisters there is a friend. She hasn't been in Lothering all that long; she's not even from Ferelden originally, but from Orlais."

"Orlais?" Rhianna arched a brow. "She wouldn't happen to be young with red hair, would she?"

"Yes," Bethany replied, "that's Leliana. Do you know her?"

"Not really, but I did meet her this afternoon. Well, sort of. I went to the Chantry to light some candles, and she approached me and we talked for a few minutes."

"Isn't she lovely?" Bethany asked. "Leliana has been such a good friend to me, and she tells the most wonderful stories."

"Does she know that you are a mage?" Solona asked.

Bethany hesitated. "No, I haven't told her that. No matter how kind she is, she's still a Chantry sister, and would have a duty to tell the templars about me."

How sad. Bethany called this woman her friend, and yet she wasn't able to be truly honest with her. And if that was the way she had to be with almost everyone she knew? What a lonely life she must lead.

"So," Bethany turned to Solona, "did you have a beau, in the Circle?"

"Me?" Solona's eyes grew wide. "No, not really. I mean, there was someone I liked, but nothing ever happened between us."

Rhianna leaned closer. "Was it . . . what was his name? Jowan? The man who got you into all this trouble . . . the one who destroyed his phylactery?"

"Jowan?" Solona laughed. "No, it's not Jowan. He and I are just friends. As it turned out, he was involved with someone. Someone he shouldn't have been involved with. A lay sister of the Chantry."

"The one who got taken away to prison?"

"Yes."

"Maker's breath," Bethany said, her eyes wide. "People escaping, and having affairs with lay sisters! Is life in the Circle always this exciting?"

"Hardly," Solona laughed. "Most of the time, we just tried to be as quiet as possible, so the templars wouldn't notice us."

"Well," Bethany said, "then tell us about the man you liked. You said nothing ever happened? Why not?"

"Oh." Solona shrugged. "Mages and templars aren't supposed to . . . do things like that, if you know what I mean. In spite of what some of the templars seem to think. But this man, he's . . . honorable, like that. I don't think he would do something that went against the rules."

"Ah," Rhianna said, "the fellow you fancied is a templar?"

"Yes. He's called Cullen."

"Cullen? Blonde hair and stutters a lot?"

"Yes, Solona laughed. "Well, I don't think he usually stutters. Only when he's nervous. But yes, that's him. Did you meet him?"

"Oh, I met him." Rhianna decided to skip the part where he'd walked in during her bath. "He took me to the top of the tower, so I could see the view from the roof."

"He's so handsome. Didn't you think he was handsome? It was a bit awkward, though, when he was the templar standing by during my Harrowing. If I'd become an abomination, he's the one who would have had to kill me." She sighed. "I suppose I should forget about him now, though. He's at the Circle, and I'm not supposed to ever go back, am I?"

"Well," Rhianna replied, "I don't think you're banished from the Circle, or anything like that. But, I don't expect you'd have reason to go there very often."

"Exactly. So probably, I'll never even see him again. That's all right, though. Like I said, I don't think he ever would've agreed for something to happen between us." Solona turned to Bethany. "What about you? Do you have someone special here in town?"

"Me? No. There isn't anyone here in Lothering. Or anywhere else. It's hard to meet people."

"Because you're a mage?" Solona asked.

"No, that's not the trouble. I mean, that won't make things any easier, but really it's having a twin brother and an overprotective older sister. I never get to go anywhere without at least one of them tagging along, and they are always suspicious of anyone who tries to talk to me."

"My brother was a bit like that," Rhianna agreed, "although in my case it didn't really matter. I was never interested in any of the fellows he ran off. I had my eye on someone for a very long time, and Fergus never suspected."

"Your man in Orlais?" Solona asked.

"No, not him. This was before I met Gauvain. There was someone else, someone I thought I was going to marry." She sighed. "But that didn't work out either." The ache in her chest returned. If only she could stop thinking about Loghain, but it seemed that even the most random things reminded her of him, continually.

Solona leaned closer. "Can I ask something else? Something really personal?"

"Of course."

"Were you," Solona whispered, "um, did you . . . well, you know. Were you ever . . . intimate with either of them?"

"Intimate? Oh, you mean . . . " Rhianna's cheeks grew warm. "Oh." She paused. "Actually, yes, I was. With both of them. Not at the same time," she hurried to add. "But yes. I was."

"Maker's breath," Bethany grinned. "What's it like?"

How was she supposed to answer a question like that? She'd never had this sort of conversation before. She'd never had any friends her own age with whom she could talk about things like this. There were only a few times she'd talked to Delilah, and really no one else. Being teased by Habren and her friends certainly didn't count.

It felt good, though, to sit and talk like this. It was comfortable and pleasant, and gave her a warm feeling inside.

"What's it like?" Rhianna began. "It's . . . nice. Well, more than nice. Really, it feels better than just about anything. Partly because it just feels . . . good. Physically, I mean. But it's also nice to be that close to someone you care about, if that makes sense."

"It feels good?" Solona sounded skeptical. "The actual . . . doing it, I mean?"

"It does. It really does."

Solona rolled over on her back, and glanced at the bedroom door. " _He's_  very handsome, don't you think?"

Rhianna was confused. "Who's handsome?"

"Duncan, of course."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose he's handsome."

"Duncan," Bethany added, "is definitely handsome. He scares me, though; he looks like a pirate, or something." She glanced at Rhianna. "And I didn't like the way he talked about the man you knew in Orlais. Like he was trying to embarrass you just to make a point." She paused. "But he is handsome."

"Wait a minute." Rhianna turned to Solona. "Are you . . ." Her voice trailed off. It was hardly appropriate to come out and ask the question that had popped into her head: if Solona wanted to lay with Duncan.

"Am I what?"

"Are you thinking about Duncan . . .  _that_  way?"

Bethany grinned. "You are, aren't you?"

Solona rolled back onto her stomach, and a crooked smile stole across her face. "Maybe I am." The smile slipped away. "Do you think I shouldn't? I bet you're both going to say he's too old for me."

"Too old?" Rhianna had to stop herself from laughing out loud. "Hardly. The man I wanted to marry was almost as old as my father. Older than Duncan, anyway."

Solona's grin returned. "What do you think he would do? If I . . . well, honestly, I don't even know how to go about something like that. What do you say when you like someone? When you want to . . . know them better?"

"I'm not sure I'm the best one to give you advice about this," Rhianna admitted. "I never had to  _do_  anything. With Loghain, well, we'd been friends for ages, and when I grew up it just sort of happened. And Gauvain flirted with me shamelessly from the moment we met, because his cousin wanted him to marry me. Either way, I never had to do anything."

"Just talk to him," Bethany suggested. "Not about  _that_ , but just about regular things, at first. You're traveling together, right? So just sit up with him some night when he's on watch, and the two of you are the only ones awake. And then . . . smile a lot? That seems to work with the boys around here, from what I've seen."

"Smile a lot? I can do that. I have a nice smile, don't you think?"

"You have a beautiful smile," Rhianna said, truthfully. "And if you like him, I agree with Bethany. You should talk to him, some night after I've gone to sleep."

"I think I will. He's a nice man, really."

Rhianna blinked in surprise; "nice" was not a word she would ever use to describe Duncan. Then again, almost no one agreed with her good opinion of Loghain, so who was she to judge?

"I think I'll try and talk to him tomorrow," Solona continued.

Bethany covered her mouth, and yawned. "Oh. I'm sorry to be such a stick in the mud, but I think I need to go to sleep."

"Me, too," Rhianna said. She was sleepy, even though somewhat reluctant for this evening to end. She'd enjoyed herself, especially this conversation with Solona and Bethany. It was nice to have people her own age to talk to.

Solona giggled. "You're both right, of course, although I really don't want to go to sleep yet. This is so much fun. It won't be fun when Duncan wakes us up at dawn, though."

"That's for sure," Rhianna agreed. "Good night, everyone."

"Good night, Rhianna. And Bethany."

"Good night."

As she settled herself under the blankets, Rhianna smiled. Solona and Duncan? She would never have thought of such a thing on her own, but clearly, Solona liked him. Maybe Duncan would like her, too, and hopefully there wasn't some horrible Grey Warden rule against them being together.

It would be a shame if there was a rule like that . . .

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to my fabulous beta readers Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum and Amanda Kitswell, and also to my lovely reviewers: Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, Vicky79, DarkspawnHorror and Riptide. 
> 
> Next stop: OSTAGAR! :D


	10. A royal welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions arrive in Ostagar.

__**30 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Ostagar** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

The sun was blessedly warm overhead, soothing away the bite of the cold wind that blew down from the Hinterlands. Duncan had said they should expect to reach Ostagar sometime after noon, and sure enough, it loomed ahead in the distance now. Duncan and Solona walked ahead and talked amiably, while Rhianna hung back. For some reason, their pleasant banter was grating on her nerves today, but she didn't want to let them know that. It wasn't anything they were doing wrong; just her own foul mood.

The closer they got to Ostagar, the more anxious she felt.

She ought to be relieved that this long journey was nearly at an end. Never could she have imagined walking from one end of Ferelden to the other, but that's exactly what the three of them had done. Walking was tedious, especially for weeks on end, and she missed Faolan not just for his cheerful presence, but for the extra speed he would have given her. So, the fact that tonight she would sleep in camp, in an actual tent, and would not be required to walk for ten hours the following day, should have made her happy.

It didn't, though. Instead, she found herself on edge.

At least the reason why wasn't a mystery. She knew perfect well why she felt this way.

Loghain was here. Every step that brought her closer to him - closer to the time when she would speak with him, would look into his face, would hear the beloved timbre of his voice - the more anxiety bloomed in her chest.

What would he say to her? Would he smile? Would he touch her, and pull her into an embrace? Or would he stand stiff and awkward, and make it clear he wanted no physical contact? What if he refused to speak with her? Wanted nothing to do with her, period? He had broken off contact with her completely, after all.

She still didn't understand what she had done to drive him away. He'd cared for her once, she felt certain of it. Then, for some reason, he'd stopped caring. And that thought caused an ache in her chest.

Regardless of his reasons, it would be smarter just to stay away.

Except she couldn't stay away. She couldn't. She knew in her heart she would seek him out, even knowing he might reject her, and knowing how much that would hurt.

Because what if he hadn't stopped? What if there was some other reason for his silence? Something he hadn't intended, and couldn't control? Something that had kept him from writing, or from coming for her.

Perhaps he hadn't truly meant what he'd written in that last letter: " _I have to let you go, so you will be free to find a life that can make you truly happy."_ Or perhaps by now he realized he'd made a mistake. And when he saw her face, he would admit it. He would admit that he did still love her.

That was why she would seek him out. If there was even the smallest chance that he would tell her he loved her, she needed to hear it.

Even if that chance was very small, indeed.

She tried to think of other things, but every time she let her mind wander freely, it found its way back to Highever, and there was no happiness for her there. So, tired of the thoughts bombarding her mind, she sped up to walk beside Duncan and Solona.

"Do you think Wardens will come from other places," Solona was asking, "or just from Orlais?"

"I've written to the Warden Commanders in Kirkwall, Starkhaven, Nevarra and Antiva. And, of course, to the First Warden in Weisshaupt. So, yes, with any luck, we'll have more Wardens here soon. My understanding is that the Orlesian Wardens will be here within the month. Yes. They'll enter the country through Gherlen's Pass – which, as you probably know, is not at all far from Kinloch Hold - and make their way south. Once they arrive, we'll have the best possible chance to stop the darkspawn before they can spread to the north."

"The king gave his permission for them to enter Ferelden?" Rhianna tried to keep her voice casual, but suspected that Duncan could hear the tension. After all, he was well aware of her opinion on this matter. "Even the chevaliers?"

"Yes." Duncan looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Lucky for us, Cailan does not share the prejudice held by much of Ferelden's nobility."

His tone was abrupt, as though he wished to stave off an argument, but Rhianna wasn't willing to be put off easily this time. "Can you guarantee that after the darkspawn have been beaten, the chevaliers will return to Orlais without any fuss?" Rhianna caught and held his gaze. "It wouldn't surprise me to discover that Empress Celene intends to use this as a way of gaining a foothold in Ferelden."

"I am not aware of Empress Celene having any intention of trying to reoccupy your country." As if she would admit such a thing, openly, if it were what she intended. Besides, that wasn't an answer to Rhianna's question.

"Can you guarantee that the chevaliers will leave again, peacefully, after the Blight is over?"

Duncan pursed his lips into a frown. "Politics are not my concern," he replied. "Nor are they your concern any longer."

"But-"

"I understand," he continued, "that as the daughter of a teyrn you grew up involving yourself in such things, but the Grey Wardens do not. We remain neutral, except when it comes to killing darkspawn. I suggest you remember this. Do not think to meddle in political affairs."

Maker.

Duncan intended to allow chevaliers in without any thought about whether or not they would leave again. He honestly didn't care if Celene used the Blight as an excuse to invade Ferelden.

Or what if Loghain was right, and the Grey Wardens were wrapped up with Orlais? Could Duncan be pretending not to care, while acting in accordance with Celene's wishes?

A weight settled in Rhianna's stomach at the thought.

"Perhaps the chevaliers really will just fight the darkspawn and leave again?" Solona's voice was higher pitched than usual, as though she wanted to end the discussion. Solona didn't seem to have much of an opinion about politics, but Rhianna could hardly blame her. It's not as though she had any reason to consider herself Fereldan. The Circle had been her home, and it was a thing completely apart from the rest of society.

"Perhaps," Rhianna replied, although she didn't really believe it.

They approached a crossroad, where the road through the Hinterlands from Redcliffe joined with the Imperial Highway on which they traveled. There had been almost no traffic on the road; just about anyone who lived this far south had fled weeks earlier, as the darkspawn pressed north. As the two roads met, however, a pair of travelers on foot were reaching the fork in the road at the same time as Rhianna and her companions.

Duncan raised his arm, and hailed the others in a hearty voice.

"Roland! What a stroke of luck to meet you here!"

Roland was of medium height, with tanned skin and dark hair peppered with grey. "It is indeed!"

The two men grasped forearms in greeting. "Roland," Duncan explained, "is a fellow Grey Warden, on his way back to Ostagar after visiting Redcliffe and the West Hills."

"Well met." Roland gestured to the man at his side. "And this is Arcill. He'll be joining the Wardens once we arrive in the city."

Arcill was a huge man - tall and broad chested, with long blonde hair that hung loose past his shoulders. His bare, muscular arms were as big around as Rhianna's thighs, and were crisscrossed with burn scars that suggested blacksmithing was his trade. He gave Rhianna a friendly smile when their eyes met, but his skin looked unhealthy – it was an unnatural grey sort of color - and his shoulders drooped as though he were exhausted.

"Arcill is from Falconhold," Roland continued. "I met up with him while traveling. He and some members of his clan had an encounter with darkspawn down near Sothmere."

"Welcome, Arcill." Duncan's tone was subdued, as though he weren't particularly happy to meet this man. But why? Arcill looked like a promising recruit.

The two parties joined together, and as they continued toward Ostagar, Roland fell into step with Duncan and Solona, while Rhianna, Arcill and Dane brought up the rear.

Falconhold, if she remembered correctly, was an Avvarian settlement. Arcill certainly looked the part, with a great axe strapped to his back, and his metal armor trimmed with leather and fur.

"Where is Falconhold located?" Rhianna asked. "Is it in the Hinterlands?"

"No. It's in far south of the Frostbacks. It is not a large hold, but we have everything we need." Rhianna remembered stories of Avvarian raiders, coming down from the mountains to steal horses and, occasionally, brides. Probably best not to mention that, though. "And where are you from, my lady?"

"I'm from Highever. In the north, on the Waking Sea."

"And you've come all this way to join the Grey Wardens?"

"Yes." That wasn't much of an answer, when surely he wondered how she had come to this point in her life, but at the moment, she didn't have the energy to explain. "So," she began, "why did you decide to join?" Assuming he had decided, and not been conscripted.

"We - me and three others from my clan - were hunting elk in the lowlands when we were attacked by darkspawn. I'm the only one who survived, except, apparently I got too close to the creatures, and fell sick. Roland tells me the Grey Wardens have a cure. So here I am."

Oh. That explained the color of his skin. He had blight sickness. Perhaps that also explained Duncan's subdued tone. Almost certainly, the joining ritual was the "cure" the Wardens had to offer, but that was hardly a guarantee, considering the ritual itself might well kill him.

"I'm sorry about your friends. We'll be at Ostagar soon, though."

"Yes, I'll welcome a chance to stop traveling. We've been on the road for more than a week."

"So have we. We've made stops along the way, but I could never have imagined what a long walk it is all the way across Ferelden. But tonight, we'll have cots to sleep on, in proper tents. Or so I've been told."

He chuckled, weakly. "That's something to look forward to, indeed."

‹›‹O›‹›

It was said that Ostagar had once been a place of magical experimentation, built by the Tevinter Imperium to mark the very southern reach of their empire. Certainly, Rhianna had seen other things built by the Tevinters - Fort Drakon, and the Imperial Highway itself - but even so, she was not prepared for Ostagar.

Far from the modest collection of collapsed walls and derelict buildings Rhianna had expected, Ostagar was a sprawling, multi-storied hulk, its archways and round courtyards connected by wide paved roads and bridges. The city was enormous, and even in ruins it was magnificent, with domed buildings, and a huge tower that loomed overhead.

As they approached, Rhianna could see the tents where bulk of the king's army had spilled out onto the gently rolling hills that surrounded the ancient city. It was an odd juxtaposition: the ancient ruin brought to life by thousands of soldiers and the community they brought along with them.

As the two Wardens and their recruits approached the final bridge that would take them into the oldest part of the city, they came upon a small group of well-armed men. Amazingly, one of them was Cailan.

"Ho there, Duncan!" The king's voice was cheerful, and he smiled broadly, as though he'd been anticipating this event.

Duncan strode forward to greet the king. "King Cailan! I didn't expect-"

"A royal welcome?" Cailan laughed, and reached out to grasp Duncan's arm in a firm handshake. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty." Duncan lifted a brow, but the king didn't seem to notice.

"You've got excellent timing, as I intend for us to throw everything we've got at the darkspawn, and end this once and for all in just a few days' time. And now, I'll have the mighty Duncan, and his Grey Wardens, at my side in battle. Glorious! And I see you've brought companions. Warden recruit-" His eyes fell on Rhianna, and he stopped speaking mid-sentence.

"Rhianna?" His brow creased. "Is it really you?"

"Hello, Cailan."

"Maker's breath!" He stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around her. She hesitated only a moment before returning the embrace and relaxing into his warmth. It felt good to be close to another person, even if it was someone she barely liked.

When Cailan pulled away, he grasped her shoulders.

"It's wonderful to see you, Rhianna." He reached up, and rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers. "I didn't recognize you at first; you've cut your hair."

"It's good to see you, too," she replied. "And yes, I cut it a few weeks ago. It was too much trouble to try and take care of it while traveling."

His brow creased. "But, I thought you were staying behind in Highever? That's what your brother told me when he arrived a few days ago, with the Highever men. He said your father would be coming, while you stayed behind to manage the teyrnir."

"That was the original plan, yes. But . . . my father won't be coming after all."

"What?" Cailan frowned. "Why not? I hope he hasn't fallen ill."

"He's not ill. My father . . . my father is dead."

"Dead?" Cailan's jaw went slack. "What are you talking about? How is that possible? I just spoke with Fergus two days ago. What in the world happened?"

"Rendon Howe ordered his men to attack the castle in the middle of the night, after Fergus and the army marched south. Father was killed, and Mother, and Fergus' wife and son, along with a lot of other people."

Cailan grasped Rhianna's shoulders more firmly. "Maker. I am so very sorry, Rhianna. I . . . I can scarcely believe it. Rendon Howe? But he and your father have been friends for years. I don't understand why in the world he would do such a thing."

"I don't understand it either."

"Well, he won't get away with such treachery." Cailan stared into Rhianna's eyes. "As soon as the darkspawn have been defeated, I'll turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word. Rendon Howe will hang. I know that won't bring your family back, but I swear to you, Howe will not profit from this. Your lands will be restored to you and your brother."

"Thank you." She managed a weak smile. "You spoke with Fergus two days ago?"

"Yes, right after he arrived."

"Good. I was worried that . . . well, it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that he's safe. And that I can talk to him, tell him what happened."

Cailan frowned. "I've no doubt you'll want to see him as soon as possible, but I'm afraid that's not going to be easy."

"What? Why not?"

"Fergus and his men left camp yesterday, to scout in the Wilds. They're not expected back for the better part of a week."

"He's in the Wilds?" Yes, that sounded like something Fergus would offer to do - he was an outdoorsman, after all, in a way few Fereldan nobles were. "But I need to talk to him. He may still be in danger from Rendon Howe's assassins."

"I understand." Cailan looked regretful. "But there's nothing to be done until he returns from the scouting mission. Until then we cannot even send word."

"That's . . . disappointing," she said, although to be honest, the disappointment was tempered with relief. As much as she yearned to see her brother, she also dreaded having to tell him what had happened: that his wife and son were dead.

"Oh, Rhianna." Cailan shook his head and let out a ragged breath. "I can only imagine what this must be like." He reached up and ran his thumb along the edge of her cheek. "He'll be back in just a few days, though. And in the meantime, you can vent your grief against the darkspawn." He pulled her into his arms again, and murmured into her ear. "Howe will pay for this, I promise."

When he pulled away, she gave him the warmest smile she could muster. Talking about her family had drained her of all good feelings, but she appreciated his concern. "Thank you."

He arched a brow. "Wait a minute. You're here with Duncan. Does this mean . . . are you joining the Grey Wardens?"

"Yes. I am."

His nose wrinkled. "That's unexpected," he said slowly. Then, his brow lifted. "I suppose this means . . ." His voice trailed off, but she could guess what he was thinking.

Even though she found it difficult to believe Cailan still wanted to marry her, the issue had never been fully resolved. Perhaps he'd still had some hope of marrying her, if his plan to wed Celene was struck down by the Landsmeet. But for to join the Grey Wardens would surely would make that impossible, for once and for all.

"I suppose it does."

He nodded. "I understand." He gave her a warm smile. "You'll be brilliant in the Grey Wardens, Rhianna, I know it. And if this is what you want, I'm . . . happy for you."

It wasn't what she wanted, not at all, but she could hardly admit that now. So, she merely nodded, and left the smile plastered on her face.

He turned to face Solona and Arcill. "And these are the other recruits, I take it?" To Solona, "It appears that you hail from the Circle of Magi?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Solona's voice was soft, as though this made her nervous.

"This is Solona Amell," Duncan said. "Formerly of the Fereldan Circle."

"Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar," Cailan said with a sweep of his arm. "I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?" He smiled, and Solona seemed to relax under the warmth of his gaze.

"I am only recently a full enchanter, your Majesty, but I promise I will do my best."

"And this is Arcill Ar Muire O Falconhold." Duncan gestured toward the Avvarian tribesman.

"Well met, ser!" Cailan crossed his arms at his chest, and bowed. "We don't see many of the Avvar here in the lowlands; I'm pleased that you will be joining us."

"Thank you." The man inclined his head, but only slightly, and did not smile. It seemed the warrior was not impressed with the Fereldan king.

Cailan seemed not to notice, as he turned to Roland. "And what of you, ser? Are you another recruit?"

"Roland is already a Grey Warden," Duncan explained. "He's just come from Redcliffe."

"Ah! Then you've spoken with Eamon?"

"I have," Roland replied. "Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week. You have only to send the word, and he'll muster his Regulars."

"Hah!" Cailan scoffed. "Eamon just wants in on the glory! I'll write to him soon, although I don't think we need his soldiers. We've won three battles against these monsters already, and the next one will be no different. I'm not even sure this is a true blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

Alas? Was he hoping for the archdemon, hoping this really was a blight?

Duncan frowned, and his words echoed Rhianna's thoughts. "Disappointed, your majesty?"

Cailan stared out into the distance. "I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god." He turned, and caught Rhianna's gaze again. "But I suppose this will have to do."

There was a catch in his voice, and he sounded like a child. A very young child. Not a king at all.

If only Maric were here. He should be the one leading this campaign, at Loghain's side. They would have worked together, as they had done during the Rebellion, with no talk of wanting an archdemon, or Orlesian chevaliers. Maric would have been sensible; Cailan seemed to care only about glory and legend and fulfilling some childish fantasy of a war that bards would sing about a hundred years from now.

"We mustn't underestimate the darkspawn," Duncan warned. "Perhaps it would be best to call the Redcliffe troops to join us. We're still waiting for the Orlesian Wardens to arrive, after all, and having the additional men Eamon would bring can only be of benefit."

"I'll think about it," Cailan said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And now, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to camp. No doubt, Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies." He stepped up to Rhianna, and took both of her hands in his. "It's wonderful to have you here, Rhianna. Please, make some time to come and see me, soon. For a visit."

"I will," she promised. As he turned and walked away, with his guards close behind, a trickle of fear ran down her spine.

_Loghain waits to bore me with his strategies._

Did Cailan really feel that way about Loghain's advice? Loghain Mac Tir was a great general, a legendary commander, yet Cailan was "bored" by Loghain's strategies? How in the world were they to win this war if the man who made the final decisions didn't even have the patience to listen to his most trusted general?

Rhianna kept these thoughts to herself as Duncan led the way through the ruins. After crossing a bridge that spanned a deep gorge, they emerged into what appeared to be the central part of the camp. They made their way to a huge bonfire ringed by tents. "This is my headquarters here in the city," Duncan explained, and pointed out the tents where they would be sleeping; Rhianna and Solona would share a large yellow tent just next to the green one Duncan indicated was his own.

"We have much to do to prepare for the battle, not least the Joining ritual for the three of you and the other two recruits who are already here," Duncan said. "The afternoon is too far gone, however, for us to prepare for the ritual today, so you may pass the time in whatever way you like. The only thing I ask is that you keep an eye out for one of my Wardens. His name is Alistair; he has short, reddish blonde hair and wears scale mail. If you'll just let him know that we have arrived, I would be grateful."

"So, it's all right for us to explore the camp?" Solona asked, with a hopeful smile and bright eyes.

"Of course," Duncan agreed.

Arcill opted to rest near the bonfire, so the two women and Dane wandered into the camp without him.

All around them, the camp was dotted with colorful tents, and bustled with people. A group of warriors painted designs on their mabari hounds. A Chantry sister led a group of people in prayer. Small knots of soldiers stood idly, chatting with one another about the darkspawn and the prospects for the next battle. Some voices were raised in laughter or shouts, while others conversed in hushed, subdued tones. There were messengers and nurses and blacksmiths and a quartermaster. In truth, a small city had sprung up here in this ancient Tevinter ruin.

"So tell me," Solona said, her voice somewhat breathless. "How it is that you're such good friends with the king? He seemed really happy to see you." 

Oh. She didn't mind the thought of Solona knowing the truth, eventually, but she wasn't sure she felt like explaining all of it just now. "I've known Cailan since we were children."

"I liked him," Solona said. "He was very friendly. And handsome, too, don't you think?" Fortunately, before Rhianna could answer, Solona giggled excitedly. "I can hardly believe we're finally here, after so many days of travel. And all this activity! I don't think I could ever have imagined anything like this! It's . . . it's like a festival, almost."

"I suppose it is, in a way," Rhianna agreed, but then she stopped walking.

Festival . . .

"Today is the last day of Solace, isn't it?" Rhianna asked. "Which means tomorrow  _is_  a festival. It's Funalis."

"Oh! You're right! I'd completely lost track of the date. I wonder if there will be any sort of celebration? We celebrated holidays at the Circle, but I expect it will be a lot more fun to celebrate here in the camp!"

Not wanting to damper her friend's excitement, Rhianna smiled to hide the unpleasant weight that had settled into her stomach at the thought.

Funalis.

If tomorrow was Funalis, then exactly one year ago today she and Loghain had shared their first real kiss, at the top of Dragon's Peak. That moment was still so clear in her mind, as if it had happened yesterday. The taste of his mouth, the warmth of his arms in the chill air. The feel of his hands as they moved across her body.

And then, on Funalis itself, Thomas Howe had murdered that poor vixen in the palace garden, and Rhianna spent the day with Loghain. She'd offered herself to him that day, in the library of the Highever estate, but he'd said no. Said they should wait until she wanted it as much as he did. If she had it to do again, knowing what she knew now, she'd have begged him. Begged him to make love to her, in spite of her fears.

Would that have made any difference, though? Perhaps he would have ended things with her that much sooner. Had he ever really wanted her in the first place, or had he just pretended all along, forced himself to act as though he found her attractive? If he'd decided he needed a new wife, she would have been the best choice in Ferelden, so maybe it was all an act.

No. No, that was stupid. He couldn't have been pretending. Not the whole time. He'd cared for her. Surely, he had.

Except now a whole year had passed since they had seen one another, and Maker knows she'd been wrong about things before. Wrong about so many things. Maybe she'd only imagined that she and Loghain had some sort of . . . bond. Really, why would a man like him have had any interest in her to begin with? She was so . . . naive, so simple, and certainly no great beauty. Quite boring, probably, to someone like the Teyrn of Gwaren. She'd thought they had a lot in common, shared interests, but that was probably just her imagination as well.

Her vision grew blurry, through tears she refused to shed.

Fortunately, Solona was so taken by everything happening around them that she seemed not to notice. "Look!" She grabbed Rhianna's hand and pulled her toward a cluster of tents. "I think I've found the Circle mages. Let's go say hello!"

As they approached the tents, guarded by solemn-faced templars, Solona led Rhianna toward an older woman dressed in mage's robes. Her white hair was pulled back into a short queue, and she smiled widely at their approach.

"Hello, Wynne!" Solona said.

"Solona!" She caught the girl in an embrace. "This is a surprise!" She stepped back and looked the girl up and down. "You're wearing enchanter's robes. Congratulations on your Harrowing! But I don't understand. What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story," Solona breathed, "and I will tell you all of it, but first, I want you to meet my friend. This is Rhianna. Rhianna, this is Wynne, one of the senior enchanters from the Ferelden Circle."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear," the woman said with a warm smile.

"Likewise," Rhianna replied.

"Does this mean Irving allowed more mages to leave the Circle?"

"Not . . . exactly," Solona replied. "Do you know Duncan? The Commander of the Grey Wardens?"

"Not personally, but I know of him."

"He came to Kinloch Hold a few weeks ago, asking for more mages. But the Knight-Commander didn't want to send any. Then . . . well," Solona wrinkled her nose, "there was a bit of unpleasantness. With Jowan. Do you remember Jowan?"

"Of course." She frowned. "Did he get himself into trouble? Did they let him attempt his Harrowing?"

"No, they didn't let him attempt his Harrowing. And he did get into trouble. It turns out that he is . . . well, a blood mage."

"What? Jowan? I find that very difficult to believe. He always seemed so . . . mild mannered."

"Yes, I thought so, too. But it's true. I saw him cast a spell that knocked four grown men onto their backs."

"Blessed Andraste!" Wynne's eyes grew wide. "I expect he was put to death for that."

"No. He managed to escape. After destroying his phylactery."

"He didn't!"

"He did!" Solona chuckled. "It was all such a big mess. Anyway, I sort of got mixed up in all of it, and the Knight-Commander was very angry. Fortunately Duncan was there, and offered me a place with the Grey Wardens. So that's why I'm here. I'm going to join the Grey Wardens."

"I see." Wynne's brow furrowed, and she took a breath as though she intended to speak. Then she glanced at Rhianna, and released the breath. "We'll talk more about this later, shall we? For now, I'm certain Duncan has better things for the two of you to do than speak with an old woman. You'd best be on your way. But do come and speak with me later, Solona. I'd like to hear all the news I've missed since leaving the Circle."

When they left the mages' area, the two women found themselves in front of a tent that flew the Mabari Rampant of Ferelden: the king's own quarters. Before Rhianna could stop him, before she even realized what he was doing, Dane trotted around to the back of the tent, lifted his leg, and sent a stream of urine onto the canvas.

"Dane!" She called to him quietly, so as not to draw attention, but already the guard had noticed and was shooing the hound away with wild gestures of his hands.

"Maker's breath!" Solona giggled. "What in the world got in to him?"

"I don't know," Rhianna replied. Dane took up his place at her side, looking quite satisfied with himself. "Apparently, he's not fond of the King."

She had to stop herself from bursting into laughter. It wasn't funny, really it wasn't. Except that she could hardly blame her dog for disliking the man. Maker knows, Rhianna had reason enough to dislike him. But still. Doing that, on his tent?

As they turned away, just across a short pathway, Rhianna spied another tent. This one sported a banner with a wyvern upon it: the symbol of Gwaren.

Maker's breath.

Loghain's tent.

Maker's _breath_. He might be inside, right now. Just a few feet away from where she stood.

"Rhianna?" Solona put a gentle hand on Rhianna's arm. "Is everything all right?"

Rhianna turned to face her friend, struggling just a bit to catch her breath. "I'm fine," she insisted. She took Solona's hand, and pulled her in the opposite direction. She wasn't ready to face Loghain. Not just yet. Maybe not ever. "Let's go see what the Quartermaster has for sale."

The Quartermaster had a surprisingly good stock of weapons and armor and various other things: poultices and apparatus for constructing traps, herbs, weapon runes. Rhianna used a few of the gems she'd taken from Highever to purchase a set of leathers that were in better shape than the ones she'd worn since Highever. Solona bought a few things as well, including a bottle of dye to change the color of her robes.

"Now that I'm not in the Circle anymore, I don't think I have to follow their rules about what sort of robes we're allowed to wear," she explained.

After finishing up their business, Rhianna and Solona made their way up a ramp and found themselves in a new part of the camp. To the left was a large open area with a table set up at the far end. To the right, a set of stairs led up into something that seemed like it had once been a temple, built to worship the old Tevinter gods. As they reached the top of the stairs, they found a man in scale mail in a rather heated discussion with a man in robes.

"Your glibness does you no credit," the mage snarled.

"Oh. And here I thought we were getting along so well." The warrior's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I was even going to name one of my children after you. The  _grumpy_  one."

"Enough!" The robed man threw his hands in the air. "I will speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool!" He pushed past Rhianna and stormed off down the stairs.

The man in scale mail smiled when he noticed Rhianna and Solona. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

"I'm sorry, what?" Rhianna asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just trying to find a bright side to all this."

Solona shot Rhianna a glance, and wrinkled her nose. "You're a very strange man."

"Believe me, you're not the first woman to tell me that," he quipped.

He was slightly taller than average, with short, dark blonde hair that stuck up in the front. He looked familiar, too. Something about the lines of his face pulled at her memory, but Rhianna couldn't remember where she might have met him before. Or perhaps it was just that he fit the description of the man Duncan had asked them to find.

"Let me guess. You must be Alistair," Rhianna said.

His eyes grew wide. "How did you know that? We haven't met before, have we? I'd feel awful if we'd met before and I'd forgotten. Not that I think I would have forgotten two such lovely women as yourselves, but sometimes things get away from me, if you know what I mean." He looked at Solona, and then at Rhianna, studying her face for rather a long time. "No, I'm certain we haven't met. I would definitely have remembered." He paused. "But yes, I am Alistair." He turned to Solona. "I don't suppose you happen to be another mage, do you?"

"What was your first clue?" Solona glanced at the staff strapped to her back, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Would that make your day worse?"

"Oh no, of course not." More sarcasm. "My day is getting better and better by the moment. Mages just love me." He turned to Rhianna. "And what about you? Are you going to make my day the best it could possibly be and tell me that you're also a mage? I'm guessing not. Well, hoping not, really. You don't look like a mage."

"No, I'm not a mage," Rhianna said carefully, not at all sure what to make of this man. Solona was right; he was strange.

Dane sat on his haunches beside Rhianna, and let out a soft whine. Apparently, he agreed with Solona, as well.

"Well, that's something." Alistair pulled at his chin thoughtfully. "But you knew my name. There must be a reason for that." He lifted a brow. "You're Duncan's new recruits, aren't you?"

"Yes," Solona replied. "He sent us to find you, actually, and let you know that he's returned."

"Thank you for that. I'm glad to hear he's back. Perhaps we should head over to the camp; I'm looking forward to hearing everything that happened to him on his travels."

Solona glanced at Rhianna and shrugged. Her meaning was clear: they'd seen most of the camp already, so they might as well go with him.

"So," Solona began as they walked, "Why were you arguing with that mage?"

"Oh. That." He shrugged. "Well, the Circle is here at the king's request, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. And, of course, the Chantry just loves letting mages know how unwelcome they are, as often as possible. So, when the Revered Mother had a message for one of them, she asked me to deliver it. I'm sure she meant it as an insult, and the mage picked right up on that."

"An insult?" Rhianna asked. "Why would he be insulted because you delivered the message?" Alistair was a bit strange, but there wasn't anything particularly unpleasant about him.

"Because before I was a Grey Warden, I used to be a templar. Which makes me rather unpopular with our visitors from the Circle of Magi."

"You were a templar?" Solona straightened, and there was tension in her voice that hadn't been there before.

"Yes, well, sort of. I'd nearly completed my training, but hadn't yet taken my vows when I was recruited into the Wardens. Most of the mages I've met don't seem to care about the distinction, though."

"Are you are going to have a problem with me? With my magic?"

"Problem?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "No! No problem. I'm not trying to be troublesome. It's just that just my background makes mages nervous." He wrinkled his nose. "And nervous mages make me nervous. I don't want to be a toad; I like me the way I am. So, as long you don't turn me into anything small and warty, we'll get along just fine."

Solona raised a brow. "Well, so long as you don't give me cause to turn you into anything small and warty, I suppose there won't be a problem."

Surely, Solona was bluffing. Was it even possible to turn people into toads? Then again, maybe it was possible; she didn't really sound like she was joking. Rhianna would have to ask about that later.

"Good." Alistair chuckled nervously. "I'm glad we've got that settled. So," he said with a grand sweep of his arm, as though wanting very much to change the subject, "As you've probably already discovered, this is the king's camp, which is separate from the where bulk of the army is set up. Here, we've got the Grey Wardens, the Circle of Magi, the Chantry. And of course, King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting somebody important."

"Loghain?" Solona glanced at Rhianna, a question in her eyes. "Wait a minute . . . isn't that the name of the man-"

"Yes," Rhianna said hurriedly, with a small shake of her head, hoping Solona would get the hint. "It is."

Solona did get the hint. "Oh. That's good to know." Solona grinned, but asked no further questions.

"What's this about Teyrn Loghain?" Alistair asked.

"Nothing," Rhianna replied. "Just that I know him. He was a . . . friend of my family, for most of my life."

"Is that so?" Alistair chuckled. "Now, he seems to spend most of his time arguing with King Cailan. I get the feeling they don't always see eye to eye on things."

They passed by a cluster of tents, in front of which several women were gathered together on benches that were arranged to form a little courtyard.

Alistair made a disapproving noise in his throat.

"What is it?" Solona asked. "Is something wrong?"

"What? No. It's just . . . I can't believe the king allows  _those_  women to set up their tents. Right here, with the army."

_Those_  women?

Rhianna took a longer glance, and realized what his disapproval was about. The women clearly weren't soldiers. Their clothes were well made, but the bodices cut somewhat lower than would be considered proper here in Ferelden, although still modest compared to the gowns Rhianna had worn in Orlais. Their faces were painted, and some of them had bare feet, and allowed flashes of leg to show as they lounged on the benches.

Prostitutes.

"Of course the king is going to allow them in camp," Rhianna said. "They're offering a service many of the soldiers want."

"Hmnh. Be that as it may, it's hardly seemly to have them just . . . sitting here. In the middle of everything."

Before she could think of a reply, Rhianna stopped walking.

One of those faces was familiar.

"What are you doing?" Alistair called out. Rhianna ignored him as she changed course, and approached the women, with Dane at her side.

"See something you like, love?" one of them cooed. "You're a pretty little thing; I'd give you a tumble at a right good price."

"Thank you, but no." Rhianna walked up to a woman with long, dark hair and pale skin. A woman who, in truth, had more than a passing resemblance to Rhianna.

"Catrin?"

The woman's eyes widened, first with surprise, and then recognition. "Maker's blood. If it isn't Lady Cousland." As Catrin got up from her seat, she glanced down at Rhianna's attire. "I didn't recognize you at first, all grown up and dressed like a soldier? And you've cut off your hair."

"Yes, I suppose I do look different." Rhianna's face burst into a smile. "It's so good to see you!" And it was - it was wonderful to see a familiar face, so far away from home when she least expected it. Impulsively, she stepped forward and pulled the older woman into an embrace.

Laughing, Catrin returned the hug. "And it's wonderful to see you. And you, as well, handsome," she cooed at Dane, as he pushed his nose into her hand.

"You came here, all the way from Denerim?" Rhianna asked.

"Oh, aye. There's a lot of money to be made here just now," she grinned. "A few months following the army, and I'll be set for a year or two."

"But aren't you worried about the darkspawn?"

"No." She shrugged. "We're safe enough I figure. I mean, we're surrounded by the army. I don't see how the darkspawn will get through all of them, just to come after us."

She had a point.

"And what about you," Catrin continued. "Why are you here?"

"I'm joining the Grey Wardens."

Catrin's brow lifted. "You? A Grey Warden? That's unexpected. I would have thought you'd be betrothed by now to that man of yours. I've seen him around camp from time to time. He always has a friendly word for me."

"No." Rhianna struggled to keep her expression neutral. "Loghain and I . . . well, that . . . that's not going to happen."

Catrin's smile disappeared. "Now that really  _is_  unexpected." She frowned. "What happened?"

"A lot of things," Rhianna replied. "So many things happened over the past year that I could never have foreseen. So here I am." She glanced behind her; Solona looked a bit tense, as though she was torn between wanting to join the conversation and being uncertain of her welcome. At her side, Alistair stood with his arms crossed, a deep frown on his face. "I'm not sure this is the best time to get into it, though.

"No, I can see that." Catrin reached up and rested her palm on Rhianna's cheek. "We'll talk another time, then. One thing is certain: you look tired. Inside and out."

"I am tired." Rhianna managed a genuine smile, though.

"Rhianna?" Alistair's voice was somewhat higher pitched than it had been before. "We should probably go speak to Duncan now." Rhianna glanced over her shoulder again, but didn't bother to respond.

"I don't think your friend likes me," Catrin chuckled.

"He's not really my friend," Rhianna murmured. "But, he's right. I probably should go."

"Of course. But come and find me some other time. When we can talk longer, and get caught up."

"I will." Rhianna hugged Catrin again. "And whatever you do, stay away from the darkspawn. Please."

"I will, I promise."

Rhianna returned to her companions, and as they walked away, Alistair muttered, "That was awkward."

"Awkward?" Rhianna lifted a brow. "What do you mean?"

"Standing around in the middle of camp, talking to . . . common women."

"You needn't have waited for me, if it bothered you so much."

"That's not the point!"

"No? Then what is?"

"They shouldn't even be here at all. The Chantry says-"

"Alistair." Solona's voice was soft, but firm. "That woman is Rhianna's friend."

"But-"

"They're friends," Solona repeated.

"That's the point!" He turned to Rhianna. "How is it you even know a woman like that, in the first place?"

Rhianna felt a stab of annoyance. "A woman like that? What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means. Look what she does for a living!"

"But you don't even know her. You don't know anything about her, and you just assume she's a bad person?"

Yes, well . . ." He seemed to lose some of his thunder, and let out a ragged sigh. "How do you know her, anyway?"

"How do I know Catrin?" Rhianna stopped walking. "All right. I'll tell you. A few years ago, the Arl of Denerim's son tried to rape me. I managed to fight him off, but afterwards, on the same night, he very nearly murdered Catrin, just because she looks a bit like me. When I found out what had happened, I went to see her, see if there was anything I could do to help her. That's how we met, and we've seen one another now and then over the years. She's a good person. I don't see how what she does for a living has anything to do with it."

"You . . . and she . . ." Alistair's shouldered drooped. "That's . . . awful. That you were both attacked. But-"

"No. There is no 'but.'" Rhianna turned, and with a glance at Solona, who quickly fell into step at her side, began to walk toward the Grey Warden camp. She'd had enough of this particular conversation. They soon reached the bonfire, with Alistair hurrying to keep up.

They arrived to find Duncan talking to two men Rhianna had not seen before: the other two Warden recruits. The three men stood near the fire, while Arcill sat on the ground nearby, his back against a tree. His eyes were closed, and Rhianna couldn't tell if he was asleep, or just resting.

"Ah, excellent timing," Duncan said as Rhianna and Solona joined the group. "I was just preparing to give Daveth and Jory the details of what you'll all be doing tomorrow."

Daveth was thin and wiry, with dark hair and a cheeky, but extremely charming smile. The other recruit, Jory, had dark red hair and a shield that marked him as a knight of Redcliffe. There was something familiar about him; Rhianna had seen him somewhere before, but she couldn't remember when or where.

"I was not aware women were permitted to join the Grey Wardens," Jory's said upon being introduced to Rhianna and Solona.

"Is that a problem for you?" Solona sounded deeply unimpressed.

"It's just that none of those I've seen thus far have been."

Rhianna gave an overly wide smile as she looked him up and down. He was tall and reasonably well muscled, but looked likely to be slow. No doubt, she could take him. "If you've any doubts about our abilities, I'll be more than happy to meet you on the practice field." She fingered the dagger at her waist.

"No, n-no. Of course not," he stuttered. "That's not necessary. You obviously impressed Duncan, and that's enough for me."

When he turned his head, the memory of where she'd seen him before came back to her. "Wait a minute . . . You won the grand melee in the tournament my father held in Highever, back in Cloudreach."

Rhianna hadn't entered the tournament, specifically because Duncan had been there, watching, but she remembered the man who'd won. This knight was faster than he looked, but his fighting style was ridiculously predictable. She could take him. Easily.

His eyes grew wide. "You're the Teyrn of Highever's daughter?"

"Yes."

"My Lady Cousland." He bowed. "I'm honored."

"Don't be. I'm just a Grey Warden now. Or will be soon." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Duncan's eyes widen. She glanced at him, and he nodded his head, slightly, as if in approval.

"You carry a Redcliffe device," Rhianna continued. "What were you doing in Highever?"

"My wife, Helena, is from Highever, and Arl Eamon gave me leave to serve there. I was attempting to persuade her to come back with me to Redcliffe." He wrinkled his nose. "The damp air in Highever didn't suit me. Then, of course, I was recruited."

"So," Rhianna began, careful to keep her tone light. "She remained in Highever?"

"Yes." He smiled proudly, with no hint of worry. "She's there now, expecting our first child."

Clearly, he hadn't heard the recent news from the north. Perhaps she'd pull him aside later and tell him what had happened. Then again, perhaps it would be kinder not to say anything. There was no Helena who had worked in the castle, and since Rhianna didn't know the woman personally, she probably hadn't been harassed by the Amaranthine guards, and was safe and sound.

Duncan filled the silence that followed. "As Alistair may have mentioned, in order to prepare for the Joining ritual, you will each need to obtain a vial of darkspawn blood. To do that, you'll venture into the Korcari Wilds first thing in the morning."

Rhianna's breath caught in her throat. "You're sending us out into the Wilds?"

Hadn't Cailan said that Fergus was scouting out in the Wilds?

"Yeah," Daveth drawled, "I wasn't happy about that part, either, when I heard about it. I grew up in a village about a day's trip to the east of here, right on the edge of the Wilds, and we stayed as far away from the forest as possible. Cannibals, beasts, witches, and now darkspawn? What isn't there to be scared of?"

Rhianna gave him a brief smile, but then turned back to the Warden commander. "Duncan?" she said simply.

His eyes narrowed as he returned her gaze. "Rhianna . . . I don't think-"

"Please, Duncan. You can't say no to this." She dropped her voice until it was barely above a whisper. "My brother is out there. He deserves to know what happened, and I need to know that he's all right. That he's still alive. Please. If we're going out there anyway, just let me at least look for signs that he might be nearby."

Duncan glanced at Alistair, and then back at Rhianna. "All right. But you must be back at camp by sunset. Which means you won't be able to go far. And you must attend to the tasks I'm giving you before anything else. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ser."

"Wait?" Jory's voice rang out loudly. "Are you saying that we're being sent out into the Wilds to look for darkspawn, only now we're going to have to stay out longer, to look for this woman's long lost brother?"

Rhianna whirled to face him. "You don't have to come with me. I'll get a vial of blood for you and hold your hand all the way back to camp, if you like. Then I'll look for Fergus on my own."

"That is not going to happen," Duncan said firmly, his eyes on Rhianna. "You will all stay together." He paused. "In any case, Jory, I have a second task for all of you to undertake, so you would be traveling some distance away from camp regardless of the search for Rhianna's brother. There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. I want you to retrieve those scrolls if you can."

"Is this also part of our Joining?" Solona asked.

"No, but the effort must be made. The scrolls are old treaties, if you're curious. Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago. They may prove very useful in the days to come."

"Wait, you said the five of us?" Daveth lifted a brow. "Does that mean you're sending us recruits out there all on our own?"

"No," Duncan replied. "Alistair will accompany you. But Arcill will remain here, in camp."

"And what's so special about him," Jory complained, "that he gets to stay behind in the safety of the camp?"

"Jory, hush," Rhianna warned quietly, and shot the man a look intended to silence him. To Duncan, "Give me his vial; I'll get the blood he needs."

Duncan nodded, but before he could respond, Jory interrupted. "No, I will not be silenced. He's bigger than any of us, and I expect that axe of his would be handy against the darkspawn."

"Jory," Rhianna repeated. "Lower your voice. Please."

"I don't have to do what you say. You're not a teyrn's daughter anymore. And I want to know why he's not coming with us."

"Shut up, you fool," Solona hissed, in a voice pitched low enough not to carry far. "Can't you see he's ill? He's probably not strong enough to come with us, and listening to you complain isn't going to help. It'll only make him feel worse. So just stop it."

"Oh." To his credit, Jory managed to look reasonably chagrined, and he left off his questions.

"All right." Duncan paused, and looked at each of them in turn. "I think that's everything you'll need to know for tomorrow. Feel free to do what you like this evening. All I ask is that you stay here, in this part of the king's camp, rather than going out of the city to where the bulk of the army is located."

As the Wardens and recruits disbursed, Jory pulled Daveth aside, and began whispering furiously. Rhianna could guess what he was saying, but she honestly didn't care.

She strode over to the tent she would share with Solona, and ducked inside. Solona followed, and together, the two women set up their few things in as comfortable a manner as possible.

"You know," Solona began, "I'm happy to go anywhere with you, to help you find your brother." She put her hands on her hips. "I don't like that Jory anyway. No women in the Grey Wardens? Who does he think he is?"

"I know." Rhianna rolled her eyes. "I almost wished he'd pressed the matter. I would have enjoyed teaching him a lesson on the practice field." She sighed. "But thank you, for your support. I just can't go out into the Wilds and  _not_  look for Fergus. I need to know that he's all right. That Howe's men haven't somehow gotten to him, or darkspawn, or . . . well, what was it Daveth said? Cannibals, beasts and witches?" She chuckled in spite of herself. "Witches. At least that's not likely to be a problem."

She began to unbuckle her armor, wanting to see how the new leathers she had bought would fit. With Solona's help, in a matter of minutes, Rhianna was strapped into her new armor, which was dyed black with lovely knot work tooled into the leather at the shoulders. She was pleased; it fit perfectly, as though it had been made for her. The leather was thicker than she was used to; that might slow her down at first, but it would also give better protection. No doubt, that would come in handy sooner or later.

Solona sat on her cot. "I wish we could go out into the rest of the camp. I was hoping to find my cousins."

"Why don't you go ask Duncan about it? Maybe he'll give us permission to go out there tonight? Maybe he'll even help you find them. We can't exactly just wander out into the camp, after all. There are thousands of soldiers here. It would be like looking for two needles in a haystack."

"That's true," Solona laughed. "I think I will go talk to Duncan, though. Do you want to come along?" Solona's offer was sincere, but Rhianna detected a hint of some hesitation in her voice.

"No, that's all right. You go without me." Now that they were here in camp, perhaps Solona would try and arrange a bit of private time with Duncan.

"All right. What are you going to do instead?"

I don't know," Rhianna replied. But there was something in the back of her mind, something that had been pecking away at her consciousness since they first set foot into camp.

Actually, she did know what she wanted to do. What she needed to do.

"On second thought, I do have an idea. There's someone I want to go and visit."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

Arcill, Rhianna, Cailan, Solona and Duncan, outside Ostagar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my lovely beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum and Amanda Kitswell, and also to all my reviewers: Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, DarkspawnHorror, Kenedii, Jo, Riptide and Vicky79.
> 
> I apologize for not getting Loghain into this chapter, but first there was just so much to do, and so many people to see, here in camp. We'll see him in the next chapter, though. Oh yes, we will. :D


	11. One thing he could not deny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna visits with Loghain at Ostagar.

__**30 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Ostagar** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain stared at the map of Ostagar and the surrounding landscape for the twentieth time that day. Perhaps if he stared at it long enough, something would change. Miraculously, they would have enough soldiers to face the ever-increasing numbers of this horde. Or perhaps a battle plan would pop into his head that was "glorious" enough to satisfy Cailan without putting the king on the front lines with the Grey Wardens.

Or, perhaps, an enormous hole would open up in the ground and the whole of the Korcari Wilds would be sucked into the earth, dragging them all along with it. That would take care of the darkspawn and the rest of his worries, all at once.

At this point, even that sounded preferable to the situation at hand.

As the king was so fond of saying, things had gone well at the start. But the size of the horde was increasing faster than reinforcements from across Ferelden could arrive. One day soon - very soon - they would be outnumbered.

This in and of itself was hardly an untenable situation; Ostagar was relatively easy to defend, and they were safe here, for the time being, from the bulk of the horde. Smaller bands of soldiers could be sent out to whittle away at the darkspawn, with blessedly few casualties. In this way, they could bide their time until all the forces from across Ferelden arrived, and then, perhaps, they could consider a larger assault.

But Cailan had grown weary of this war, and was determined to end the Blight in a single, huge battle that "bards would sing of for centuries." Not only was he adamant that it was time to end this once and for all, but he had rejected the first half-dozen battle plans Loghain devised. Plans that ensured the king's safety, away from the front lines. Time and time again they had argued about it; just about every day, sometimes multiple times per day, Loghain had tried to make the lad see reason. But Cailan was obsessed with Duncan and his Maker-damned Grey Wardens, and determined to fight alongside them, no matter how dangerous or foolish it might be.

Damn it. Would Loghain ever be free of the Grey Wardens? For twenty years – since that band of Orlesian Wardens had waltzed into the Denerim Palace and convinced Maric to sneak away with them in the middle of the night - they had brought nothing but trouble into his life. And now, more than ever, he was suspicious of their insistence that they were necessary to end the blight, assuming this even was a blight. Yes, the few of them that were here in Ferelden had proven effective against the darkspawn, but they alone were not going to end this war, no matter what Cailan believed.

A delay of even a few weeks might be all the time that was needed. Men from Oswin were expected any day now, as were Amaranthine's troops. Cailan had yet to ask Eamon to bring his five hundred Redcliffe soldiers, but if word was sent now, the journey from Redcliffe could be made in about a week, and the addition of those men would even the odds substantially in their favor.

Of course, Cailan waved away these concerns, and had only agreed to wait long enough for Duncan to return, or for the arrival of the Orlesian Wardens and the chevaliers the empress had insisted must accompany them. Chevaliers, of course, were not going to be allowed to cross the border. Loghain had sent strict orders to the men guarding Gherlen's Pass: the Wardens could enter, but not a single chevalier would set foot on Fereldan soil. Not one.

At any rate, with Cailan insisting on a battle "like in the tales," Loghain had attempted to come up with some strategy that would placate the king, as well as get the job done, but it just wasn't coming together with the resources they had at hand.

Still, he had to try. So, he pushed up the sleeves of his linen shirt - there was no point in wearing armor while they sat idle in camp - and stared at the map, hoping that this time his eyes would land on something he'd missed before, something that would lead to a stronger battle plan than the one they had now, the only one Cailan would entertain, in spite of the fact that it put the king smack in the middle of the action, at great risk to his life.

"Excuse me, Commander." Loghain's guard stuck his head through the opening of the tent. "There's someone here to see you. Says she's an old friend of yours."

An old friend? Who could that be? He'd never had a surfeit of friends. Ser Greta, perhaps, although he wasn't aware she'd come to Ostagar. Or maybe Ser Jana was here, from Highever. That would be good news, if she had arrived with Amaranthine's soldiers.

"Very well. I'll be right there."

He left the map open on the desk and went out into the late afternoon sunlight. The chill in the air was more noticeable now than it had been even a week ago; autumn was well on its way, and would be followed closely by winter this far south. In this one way, Cailan was right about the need to end this relatively soon; trying to overwinter the army here at Ostagar would likely be disastrous.

A woman stood in front of his tent, her back to him. At the sight of her, he stopped walking, and his breath caught in his chest.

Maker's blood.

Her hair was different, and he'd not seen that armor before, but he would have recognized her anywhere. Her posture, and the way her weight rested slightly more on her right leg. The curve of her waist. The angle where her neck and her shoulder met.

But what in the world was she doing here?

"Rhianna?"

She turned to face him.

Her lips were slightly parted and unsmiling, her eyes were wide, and he couldn't read her expression. She looked tired, though. No. Not just tired, more than that. She looked exhausted. She'd lost weight, her cheeks were gaunt, and her skin was so pale she looked almost ghostly. Dark smudges beneath her eyes spoke of an extended lack of sleep, or some other sort of hardship. And she'd cut off all her hair. He couldn't decide if it made her look older, or very, very young. Surprisingly, Dane was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully nothing bad had happened to the hound.

She smiled, a weak, tentative smile. "Hello, Loghain."

Her voice sent a shiver through him. "Rhianna. I . . . I didn't expect to see you here. I spoke with Fergus, briefly, before he went into the Wilds. He said your father was coming south with Howe, but that you were to remain in Highever to manage the teyrnir."

That conversation had been more than a bit awkward. Clearly, Fergus knew at least some of the details about Rhianna and Loghain's failed relationship. The lad was gruff, but they only had a few minutes to speak, and Cailan was present, so nothing was said about it openly. It was obvious, though, that if they'd been in private, Loghain would have had an earful. Well deserved, no doubt.

"Yes, that was the original plan. But my father's not coming."

"Not coming? Why not?"

"He's . . . " She took a deep breath and let it out again. "He's . . . dead. Along with most everyone else who lived in Highever Castle."

Loghain's brow furrowed, and he shook his head. At first, he thought he must have heard wrong. Bryce Cousland dead? Along with the rest of Highever? But the look in her face told him that he had, indeed, heard her correctly.

"Blessed Andraste," he swore. "What happened? Have the darkspawn attacked in the north now, as well?"

That would be a disaster beyond anything Loghain could imagine. They had barely enough soldiers here in Ostagar to face the horde to the south. If the darkspawn had great enough numbers to attack somewhere else . . .

"No, it's nothing to do with the darkspawn."

Loghain felt a fleeting moment of relief, followed quickly by an even deeper sense of dread. "If not darkspawn, then what?"

"It was Rendon Howe," Rhianna continued. "The night after Fergus marched south with the bulk of the Highever Regulars, Howe ordered his men to attack the castle. In the middle of the night." She shifted her gaze, and looked out over the camp. "He intended to murder all of us in our sleep, but Dane woke me in time to pull myself together and fight my way out."

She met his gaze again. "Mother and I were able to make it to the servants' entrance, but Father . . ." She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, and they were bright with unshed tears. "Father had been wounded too badly to even try and leave the castle."

Loghain's stomach churned and he felt almost dizzy, and wished there was something nearby to grab hold of, to steady himself. Rendon Howe had betrayed the Couslands? That seemed impossible; Bryce and Howe had been close friends for many years. Then again, Howe made no secret of the fact that he was disappointed by his lot in life, that he thought Maric should have made him a teyrn for his part in the Rebellion. And, over the years, the man had shown nothing but disdain for Rhianna.

Still, to murder an entire family? That was beyond the pale.

No wonder she was pallid and gaunt. Rhianna had suffered a profound loss.

He put an arm around her shoulders. "Come," he urged. "Let's go inside. We can talk there."

She nodded, and allowed him to lead her into the tent, and over to the cot that served as both chair and bed. He grabbed a bottle and two glasses, and came to sit beside her. She threw back the first shot of whiskey he offered her, but declined a second.

"You said your mother wasn't wounded," he began. "Did she make it out with you? Is she here as well? And what of Dane?"

"Dane is here. Last time I saw him, he was on his way to greet the hounds in the kennel. My mother . . . isn't, though. When it came down to it, she refused to leave. She said she was doing it to buy Duncan and I time to escape, but I think really, she just couldn't bear to leave him." Rhianna caught Loghain's eyes. "I didn't want to leave him either, but I wasn't given that choice."

"What do you mean, you weren't given the choice? And Duncan? Do you mean the Warden Commander? What does he have to do with this?"

"Duncan happened to be at the castle that evening. He was there recruiting for the Grey Wardens before returning here. I would have stayed with my parents and fought, but he . . . took me out of the castle, helped me escape."

Maker's balls.

"Please tell me you've not joined the Grey Wardens."

"I haven't, not yet." Her shoulders sagged. "But that is that plan. As soon as preparations can be made, I am to become a Grey Warden."

"No. Rhianna, no." He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. "You can't do this. The Grey Wardens have a dark history, and too many secrets, and all of it wrapped up with Orlais. You can't join them. You mustn't join them."

She held his gaze. "I don't have a choice. I didn't agree to any of this. Duncan conscripted me, and literally dragged me out of the castle. It was his right to do so."

"There's a ritual or something, isn't there?" Loghain's mind raced. There had to be some way around this. "Have you gone through it yet?"

"No, I believe it will happen tomorrow."

"Then don't do it. I don't give a damn about the Right of Conscription. There must be a way to get them to release their hold on you. I'll speak with Cailan." Although that was not guaranteed to do much good; the king might insist that Rhianna accept such a "great honor," as fascinated as he was with the Wardens. "Well, maybe not Cailan, but I'll write to Anora, and take you under my protection in the meantime, if it comes to that."

"No." Rhianna shook her head. "Thank you, but no. It's all right, really. I was angry about being conscripted at first, but I'm not anymore. I'm not angry at anyone other than Rendon Howe."

"Are you saying this is what you want? You want to join the Grey Wardens?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying." She sighed. "I don't  _want_  to be a Grey Warden, but I am resigned to it now. And it was my father's dying wish: that Duncan would help me escape, and I would join the Wardens." She paused. "To be honest, I can't see what else there is for me to do. Highever is gone, for now anyway. I don't have anywhere else to go. And there are darkspawn to fight." She shrugged a shoulder. "I've always wanted to serve Ferelden in whatever way I can. Maybe this is my chance to do that." She caught his gaze. "This is a blight. I know you haven't been given any proof, but there is an archdemon behind this, and it truly is a blight." She bit her bottom lip. "The Wardens need me. They . . . want me." She looked down at the floor. "I don't think anyone else does."

No one else wanted her?

Surely, that comment was aimed at him, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral as he studied her profile. Her eyes were bright, and her lower lip trembled, but again, he couldn't be certain of what she was feeling. That alone made him uncomfortable; there was a time when he could read every mood in her face.

But now, he had no idea what was going on in her head. Was she angry? With him? Not that he would blame her, but even so, how could she believe there was no one who cared about her?

She closed her eyes and ran her hands across her face, and when she opened her eyes again she looked . . . empty. Defeated and hollow. He had never seen her like this before. Not after Maric disappeared, not after she was attacked by Vaughan, or the werewolves, or the poachers. Not when Tanith nearly died in her arms.

Something twisted inside him. When she'd said no one wanted her, she hadn't meant it as an attack or an accusation.

She believed it was true.

Blessed Andraste. What had he done to her?

"I need to find Fergus." she said before he could think of anything to say. "I need to tell him what happened."

"What of Oriana and Oren?" he asked, dreading her answer.

"They're dead, too. They were probably among the first to be murdered." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "Mother and I found them, in their bedroom. They were just lying on the floor. Oriana's throat had been cut, and Oren . . ." Rhianna's body tensed up beside him. "Oren . . . Oh, Loghain." Her voice was tiny and desperate and miserable. "They ran him through with a sword. How could they do that? He was only five years old." A tear slipped down her cheek. "He was the most precious thing in all the world, and they ran him through with a sword. How could anyone do a thing like that?" Her breath caught in her throat, and her shoulders began to shake. She leaned forward, face in her hands, and began to sob so quietly that at first Loghain wasn't certain she was crying.

Maker's blood. Rendon Howe had massacred the Couslands. It seemed impossible, ludicrous, but obviously it was the truth. Memories flooded him: meals in the dining hall of Highever Castle, little Oren laughing as he tried to climb on Dane's broad back. Eleanor, in tears, when Rhianna had the plague. Oriana's gentle smile and sharp eyes. Bryce's face as Loghain had left Highever House on that last morning in Denerim. As furious as Loghain had been with the man, the thought that he was now dead? Something hollow bloomed in his chest, something raw and painful, but he forced his breath to remain steady. Forced himself to remain calm, for Rhianna's sake.

He put his arm around her shoulders, and urged her close. At first she resisted, and then she curled up against him, as she had done so many times in the past. She began to cry in earnest, and her entire body shook with the effort. Small sounds escaped her throat, and then she moaned, a heartbreaking, mournful sound devoid of anything but misery and grief. He pulled her even closer, and pressed his lips against the top of her head.

Holding her like this was so familiar. How many times had he comforted her this way? And she'd done the same for him, more than once.

There was something different this time, though, something that made him ache in a way he'd never felt before. Perhaps it was just that her grief was so much more profound than ever before, or perhaps it was the time they had spent apart.

No. It was neither of those things. It had nothing to do with Rhianna; it was Loghain's own feelings that made him so uncomfortable.

Guilt. Regret. Anger. Shame. And the feeling that somehow,  _he_ had done this to her. That he was the cause of her grief.

Of course, he wasn't. Maker knows she had reason enough to cry after losing her family and her home. But that didn't absolve Loghain of guilt for all the other things he'd done. For leading her on, even if that had never been his intention. For taking her to his bed, and then turning his back on her in the cold, harsh light of reality. Surely, there had been times when she had wept and he had not been there to comfort her. When he, himself, had been the cause of her pain.

In truth, he deserved to be hated for what he'd done. If she had come to him and screamed, struck out at him, denounced him as the miserable coward he was, he'd have taken it quietly, knowing she had every right to hate him.

But she hadn't come to him in anger. She had sought him out . . . well, he wasn't sure why, or what her purpose had been. But she trusted him enough to tell him the truth, and to let him see her so vulnerable. Surely that meant she didn't hate him, no matter how much he deserved it. And he would give her whatever she needed from him, to the very best of his ability.

Maker, how much she had suffered during the past year?

A year.

Had it been an entire year already?

Yes, it had. Tomorrow was Funalis, which meant that exactly one year ago today, they had climbed Dragon's Peak, and he had kissed her for the first time. His arms tightened their hold on her, as he struggled against the hollow feeling in his chest, his own grief and pain.

Those weeks, those precious few days he had with her . . .

He didn't allow himself to think about them very often, if at all. Ignoring those memories was the only way to go through with what he believed had needed to be done. He had spent so much time convincing himself that what he'd done was for the best. That Rhianna was safer, and would be happier in the long run, without him.

But had she really been safer? Her family was dead; would Howe have dared attack the Couslands if Rhianna had been Loghain's wife? And now she was being forced to join the Grey Wardens, which seemed likely to promise a short life, and a violent end. Perhaps there was still some way he could spare her from that, no matter how resigned to it she was.

What if, by walking away, he'd harmed her even more?

That thought hurt more than he could bear, so he pushed it away, and turned his attention to the physical presence of the woman in his arms. One of his hands rested at her waist, and the other stroked what was left of her hair.

It had been a shock, seeing her without it. Why had she cut it? Practicality, no doubt. She and Duncan must have walked here from Highever, which would have made bathing inconvenient. Still, something inside him ached it the absence of it. Not for his own sake. Not just for his own sake, anyway. Yes, her hair had been beautiful. He had always loved running his fingers through it, loved its silken softness, its weight in his hands. But he'd surrendered long ago the privilege of touching her in that way. No, he ached for her sake. She had always been proud of her hair. She'd told him once that she thought it her best feature, and now, it was gone. What did that mean to her? Convenience aside, it seemed symbolic as well. How much of her old life had been shorn away along with her tresses?

Again, the thought made him ache.

They stayed that way, wrapped up together until Rhianna's sobs had subsided, and she eased herself from his arms. She sat up and wiped the tears from her face with the heels of her hands. Loghain had no idea how much time had passed, only that the sun had set, and it had grown dark in his tent, so he rose, and crossed the room to light a lantern before returning to her side.

She turned toward him, hands folded in her lap, but didn't meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I . . . I . . . well, that's the first time I've really cried since . . . any of this happened."

Blessed Andraste. No wonder there had been so much grief pent up inside of her.

"You've no need to apologize. I just wish there was something tangible I could do to help."

"Cailan promised that once the darkspawn have been defeated, he'll take the army north. That Howe will hang." She paused. "I'm not sure that will make me feel any better, but I suppose it will give me some . . . closure, anyway." She took a deep breath and ran her hands across her face. Then she fell silent and stared at her hands as they rested in her lap.

She was calm now, outwardly, but he could sense the depth of her pain, like a weight that pulled at every part of her. He remembered how this felt. He had lost people he loved to violence, and remembered that weight, how it settled so deep inside it became a part of him, always. For him, it had been such a long time ago that the sharp agony of it was gone, dulled to only occasional moments of regret. Someday, this would be true for Rhianna, as well, and the full force of her grief would wane. But trying to tell her this now, while it was still so raw, would bring no comfort.

He needed to comfort her though. He was desperate to do something – anything – to soothe away her pain, even if only for a few minutes. So he did the only thing he knew to do: he reached over, and took one of her hands in his, and held it.

Her fingers wrapped around his, and she squeezed gently, and warmth flooded through him. Warmth, and gratitude that she was willing to accept what he had to offer.

After a minute, she turned her face to his, and he found himself unable to take in a breath.

She was beautiful. So very beautiful, and the earlier warmth shifted, and bloomed into something more primal. More urgent.

He wanted to kiss her. To taste the sweetness of her mouth, to hear her sigh with pleasure. To press his lips against her throat and feel her heart beat against them.

He forced himself to draw in a breath, as he pushed these feelings aside. No matter how much he wanted it, kissing her was something he absolutely could not do. Probably, she would not even welcome an advance, and even if by some miracle she did, he could hardly justify such a thing. She was grieving for her family; taking advantage of her now, when she'd come to him for comfort, would be even more despicable than all the things he had done before.

"Are we really going to be able to do this?" she murmured. "Defeat the darkspawn? When I spoke with Cailan . . . well, I get the feeling he isn't taking this as seriously as he should. Duncan told me the horde numbers at least ten thousand. Are there soldiers enough to face that many?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Two units of men arrived every hour today, and I expect double that tomorrow. Even so, I am honestly not sure it will be enough, not to defeat the horde in a single, decisive battle, which is what Cailan seems to want. And if there are more darkspawn than we anticipate?" He shrugged, and shook his head.

"We have to stop them," Rhianna said. "They'll destroy Ferelden if given the chance." She ran the back of her hand across her nose. "I hate them. They're horrible and they're ugly and useless, and there's no reason for them to be here, and I  _hate_  them."

The petulant tone in her voice made her sound so young. Of course, she  _was_  young. She'd only just turned eighteen.

Before he could think of anything to say, she continued, "I wish Maric were here." She didn't speak the rest of the sentence, but this time, Loghain knew exactly what she was thinking: "instead of Cailan."

"Yes. So do I." That was truer than he cared to admit. There had been times over the past months when he wished desperately that his best friend were here. Not just because he missed him, but because Maric would have responded to this threat in a much different, much more appropriate way. "Maric understood that it takes more than legends to win a battle."

"Yes, that's it exactly. Cailan seems to be caught up in notions of glory, in fighting a battle bards will write songs about." She met his eyes, her expression earnest and a bit frightened. "But bards don't write songs only about victories, and I'm afraid that if Cailan has his way, the only songs about Ostagar will be tragedies."

He rested a hand on her shoulder. "It will be all right, in the long run. Even if we can't beat them in one 'glorious' battle, the darkspawn will not destroy Ferelden. I'll not let that happen, I swear it."

Rhianna, her eyes still red-rimmed and puffy, held his gaze. "I know. I trust you."

Hearing those words from her lips hurt him in an entirely new way. The last thing he deserved was her trust.

Something in her expression shifted. She swallowed, and her lips parted, and he became aware of the way her chest rose and fell with her breath.

Again, he wanted so much to kiss her. To pull her close, to cover her mouth with his own. To feel her fingers wind themselves into his hair. He wanted to ease her down onto the cot, and make love to her as slowly and deliberately as he knew how. To hear her cry out his name, feel her body tighten around his. To do everything in his power to ease her grief and pain, and his own.

He swallowed, and drew in a breath.

A crease formed along her brow, and she looked confused, but she leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, and without thinking, he did the same.

"Excuse me, Commander?" His guard's voice, at the door to the tent.

Loghain took his hand from her shoulder, and she sat up, startled.

"Enter," Loghain said.

The guard ducked through the tent flap. "The Ash Warrior scouts have returned, ser. They wish to speak with you." He glanced at Rhianna. "Shall I tell them to come back later?"

Before Loghain could answer, Rhianna stood. "No. It's all right. I should go." To Loghain, "I've wasted too much of your time today already. Thank you, though. I think . . . I think I needed this."

"I'm glad you came." He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the wave of regret that washed over him. "It was . . . good to see you, Rhianna. Good to talk to you. I'm sure we'll see one another again soon." He rested a hand on her shoulder. "And I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." She smiled, a tired smile that looked as though it took a great effort.

She walked toward the door.

"Rhianna." At the sound of her name, she turned back to him. "Are you sure about this thing with the Wardens?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Very well. But if you change your mind, all you have to do is say the word, and I will do everything in my power to stop it."

That tired smile again. "Thank you. I do appreciate that, truly." She reached for the tent flap, but then turned toward him once again. "Did you receive a letter from my father? A few months ago?"

"A letter from your father? No." He'd had no word at all from Bryce since the morning they spoke at Highever House. "Why? What was it about?"

Maker. Had Bryce changed his mind, and decided to allow Rhianna and Loghain to marry? If a letter to that effect had gotten lost along the way, and Rhianna thought Loghain had just ignored it? He could only imagine how much that would have hurt her.

She studied his face. "Nothing." She shook her head. "Nothing that can't wait, anyway, until this business with the darkspawn is finished."

Then she was gone, and it was though all the warmth had gone out of the room along with her, and in its place a familiar emptiness settled around him. The emptiness that had come into his life when her father took her from Denerim, and which had never entirely left. The emptiness Loghain had tried to fill by busying his days with work, and occasionally with liquor.

Most days, he'd been successful at keeping the emptiness at bay. But now? It had been difficult to put her out of his mind at a distance. Up close, it would likely be impossible.

Because he still loved her. No matter how much he had tried to convince himself otherwise, seeing her today had made him realize that he loved her as much as he ever had.

And now she was here. There seemed no way this could end well. Whatever the two of them might have shared in the past was long dead. Having her here would only serve as a distraction, and things were already complicated enough.

But as the last traces of her warmth lingered on his skin, there was one thing he could not deny. Even as he dreaded the complications her presence here might bring, he was glad she was here. Just the sight of her face had made him happy in a way he hadn't felt in . . . well, almost a year.

He turned to the guard. "Tell the scouts I'll be with them presently."

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

After Rhianna left Loghain's tent, she couldn't quite catch her breath, couldn't fill her lungs with air. She felt empty and hollow, but also somehow more alive than she'd felt in weeks, as though she were floating, and it was wonderful and terrible in equal parts.

More than anything, though, she was scared.

But why? None of her worst fears had come to pass. Loghain hadn't pushed her away. Far from it; he had been kind, and gentle. He'd listened, and held her while she cried. So why did she feel slightly panicked, as though she wanted to claw off her own skin?

She started walking. She needed to move, to burn off all this energy coursing through her, and she didn't care where her feet might take her.

She soon found herself on the long bridge they'd crossed on their way into camp. Halfway across, she stopped, and looked out over the vista below. To the north, the gorge opened up to a large field that showed signs of past battles - the earth was torn up in places, and scorched in others. Beyond, the forest stretched as far as the eye could see. She turned to the south; there, the gorge narrowed, and ended abruptly where rocky cliffs stretched up in the near distance.

Letting out a ragged breath, she willed her heart to stop pounding so loudly in her chest. Willed herself to breathe through feelings that threatened to drown her.

The memories of what had happened in Highever, and finally allowing herself to feel the full depth of her grief.

The reality of being here, at Ostagar, plunged into the middle of a war against the darkspawn.

The looming threat of this ritual the Grey Wardens would force on her.

And, of course, Loghain.

Oh, Maker. Loghain.

His face. He'd looked tired, as though he'd not had enough sleep in far too many days, but even so, he was still so handsome. And so warm, when he'd held her. It had been so good to see him again. So very good. Just having his solid presence at her side had felt so safe, so  _right_.

It had felt so good to cry, and, Maker help her, it felt so good to be in his arms. To feel his voice resonate through her body. To have his skin warm beneath her fingertips, even for just a moment. To feel his heat through his linen shirt, and breathe in his scent.

She sat on the low wall that ran along the edge of the bridge. When he'd held her in his arms, she had wanted to stay there forever. He'd been so gentle with her, so kind, and thankfully he hadn't pushed her away.

In spite of his kindness, though, she wasn't sure what he felt for her now. Just because he hadn't pushed her away didn't mean he wanted her. She was grateful for what he had given her, so grateful. She'd needed to cry, needed it desperately, and she'd needed to share it with someone she trusted.

It came as something of a blow to realize that she did, indeed, still trust Loghain. After everything, after all this time, even knowing he hadn't really loved her, she trusted him.

Heat rose up behind her eyes, and her vision blurred.

Loghain had been friendly, had welcomed her into his tent and held her while she cried, but there was no reason to think he wanted more than that. She mustn't read more into it than had been there. In truth, it hadn't seemed as though he wanted her at all, not  _that_  way.

She forced back a sob. Because, regardless of Loghain's feelings, she still wanted him. She had wanted to fall into his arms, to press her lips to his. To beg him to make love to her. She had wanted so much to kiss him, and for a moment she thought it would happen. They had looked at one another, and it felt so familiar, like it had felt when she believed he was in love with her.

But then his brow creased, and his eyes had grown dark with something she couldn't decipher. Was it confusion? Or pity, perhaps.

One thing had been clear: whatever he felt, it was not desire.

Thank the Maker for that guard, who had interrupted before she embarrassed herself by trying to kiss Loghain, and having him push her away. She could barely imagine how much worse she would feel right now if she'd thrown herself at him only to be rejected.

She stared down into the gorge until her breathing had returned to normal, and she felt something close to calm.

Even now, even knowing that he didn't want her, she wanted to go back to him. To go back to his tent. She would have been happy just to sit with him, to lean against his body and feel his arm around her shoulder again. To allow her breath to fall into the pattern of his. Perhaps to fall asleep beside him.

She stood, and strode to the other side of the bridge, annoyed with herself. She was being foolish. This wasn't a garden party; they were at war. Loghain had better things to do than coddle Rhianna through these ridiculous feelings. And she needed to move on, to find a way to stop relying on him for comfort.

Going to see him had been the right thing to do. It truly had. Seeing him, being close to him, had been . . . wonderful. But if she'd thought it would bring her any closure - one way or another - she'd been sadly mistaken. If anything, she felt more anxious than before. He'd been kind and friendly. He hadn't pushed her away. But neither had he reached for her except to comfort her, as anyone would do for a friend. Nor had he said a word about what had passed between them last year.

_I'm sure we'll see one another again soon._

Did that mean he wanted to see her again? Or was it merely an acknowledgement that surely, their paths would cross while they were both here at Ostagar? And was there any chance that the two of them would  _mean_  something to one another again?

As the last colors of the sunset faded, a gleam of white feathers caught Rhianna's eye, and she raised her arm so Gwyn could land on her gauntleted forearm. The hawk had made herself scarce on the journey to Ostagar; after she returned from delivering Rhianna's message to Fergus, Gwyn had chafed at the pace Rhianna and Duncan had set while they walked. So, the bird had explored on her own, only checking in with Rhianna occasionally. Now they had reached their destination, however, it seemed Gwyn was ready to settle down for a rest.

With the bird on her arm, Rhianna went back across the bridge, and returned to the bonfire. The Grey Warden camp was deserted except for Arcill, who still rested against the tree where he'd been when she'd left to speak with Loghain. His eyes were closed, and it was difficult to tell if he was asleep, or just resting.

Either way, she preferred not to disturb him, so she turned toward the tent she shared with Solona. Gwyn flew up and landed on a branch above the Avvar warrior's head.

"Rhianna?"

Apparently he wasn't asleep after all. "Hello, Arcill. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I wasn't asleep. I just don't have the energy to get up and explore. To be honest, I wouldn't mind some company." He paused. "Unless you were on your way to do something?"

"No, I was going to sit in my tent. I think I'm done wandering around camp for this evening." She sat on the ground beside him, and studied his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he admitted. "And a bit uncomfortable, as though my skin doesn't quite . . . fit the way it used to? I don't know if that makes any sense at all. But I can feel it - the taint, or whatever this is - I can feel it inside of me. Like it's crawling through my blood." He ran a hand through his hair. "But you don't need to hear about that."

"I don't mind, if it helps to talk about it. Unless you'd rather think about something else for a change?"

"Yes, I'd prefer that. I've been thinking about this most of the day."

"Then let's talk about something else."

"All right." He glanced up into the tree. "That's your hawk?"

"Yes. Her name is Gwyn."

"She's lovely. I haven't seen many birds with her coloration here in the lowlands, although we breed them like that in my Hold."

"Her coloration is the reason she lives with me, and the reason I found her in the first place. It was difficult for her to manage in the forests near Highever; she wasn't able to hide from the crows."

He looked up at the hawk again, and clicked his tongue. Gwyn opened her wings, and glided silently down to the arm he offered her, and allowed him to ruffle the feathers behind her neck.

Rhianna smiled. "She doesn't usually do that; she tends to be shy around people."

A chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. "The place where I live is not called Falconhold for no reason."

"I suspect I would enjoy myself there," Rhianna said. "I've always had an affinity for birds, and other animals."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." He paused. "You also seem well acquainted with the king."

That was an interesting turn of thought. "Yes. I've known Cailan most of my life."

"Can he be trusted?"

Rhianna arched a brow at the bluntness of the question.

"I mean," Arcill added, "do you think he will be able to lead the armies to victory against the darkspawn?"

Oh. A question so similar to the one she had asked Loghain just a few short minutes before.

"Do I think will lead us to victory?" She glanced around to make certain no one was near to overhear the conversation. "No. Cailan will not be the one who leads us to victory. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir will do that. He's Cailan's general, and one of the best strategists in all of Thedas. As long as he leads the army, we'll beat the darkspawn. Of that I have no doubt."

Just speaking Loghain's name had caused her to tremble, and she dug her fingers into the grass and forced herself to breath slowly.

"Loghain Mac Tir. He is the one who won at River Dane, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. He is an honorable man, and a true warrior, by all accounts. Something I have never heard said of your king."

" _My_  king? Do you have so little respect for him that you do not even claim him as your own?"

"Respect?" Arcill shrugged. "I neither have neither respect nor disdain for him at present; I know too little of him. Either way, Cailan Theirin is not my king."

"Is Falconhold not within Ferelden's borders?"

"It is, but that doesn't mean we recognize your king's authority. He gives us nothing, we take nothing in return. This is how those of us who live in the mountains prefer it to be."

"Fair enough." She paused. "So, tell me about Falconhold?"

"As you wish. Let's see. Where do I begin?" He stretched his legs out and pulled his arm closer to his body, almost cradling Gwyn as he stroked her back. The birds eyes were closed, and she appeared to thoroughly enjoy the attention. "I am aware that Lowlanders say we only live in the mountains because we were forced there when the tribes were at war. But nothing could be further from the truth. The mountains are magnificent, and strong. They keep us safe and give us shelter. They provide us with food, and clothing. And nowhere on earth could possibly be as beautiful. The way the sun glistens on a snowcapped peak, as it stretches up into a deep blue sky. The colors on a rocky cliff face or the pebbles in a stream. Even storm clouds and lightning, as terrifying as they can be, are awesome to behold. Nothing is more beloved to my people than the mountains themselves. They are no consolation prize; we pity those of you who are forced to live where it is flat."

He caught her eye, and she chuckled. "You know, I grew up between the mountains and the sea, and I could never decide which one I prefer. I love sailing, and walking on the beach. But there is something about the mountains, as well, that is just so beautiful. Magnificent trees, and waterfalls." She smiled, more to herself than to Arcill. "My brother and I used to camp, and my very favorite place in all the world is up in the mountains: a lake with a small waterfall, where we used to swim."

A memory of Maric and Loghain came into her mind, but she pushed it away.

"The same brother who is out in the Wilds now?"

"Yes. I only have the one."  _Please, Andraste. Please let him still be alive. "_ Gwyn looks happy," Rhianna said, not wanting to dwell on thoughts of her brother.

"She and I, both," he replied. "Speaking of birds, would you like to hear a story about a bird? One of the stories my people tell?"

"I would like that very much." Anything to distract her from being barraged by memories. She stretched herself out on the ground, with her hands behind her head, and looked up at the sky.

"All right then." He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Have you heard the story of the ptarmigan?"

"The ptarmigan?" Rhianna shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I've seen them a few times, high in the mountains. They're adorable, chubby little things. But I can't remember ever hearing a story about one."

He arched a brow. "You've seen ptarmigan? I can't imagine there are many lowlanders who can say the same. Not only do the birds live at high elevations, but they're skittish and shy around people."

"Like I said, I have an affinity with most creatures."

"You would get along well in Falconhold, I think." He looked up at the sky, as if to catch the thread of his story. "This is a story about how once, long ago when the world was very young, the mountains themselves had a heart. Do you know of Karth?"

"Isn't he the Mountain god? And the king of all your gods?"

"Yes, that's it exactly. Karth is the father of the mountains, and once upon a time he lived at the very top of the tallest mountain, and from there he could see everything that went on in the world below. He was happy for a time, but eventually, some of what he saw did not please him. He saw the strong become weak, and the brave become cowardly. He saw the wise turn foolish, and the kind become cruel. And he saw that all of this was for love. So many people betrayed by their hearts. He feared that some day the same would happen to him, so he devised a plan to prevent it.

"He took the heart from his body, and sealed it inside a cask made of gold, and then buried it deep in the earth where no one would ever think to look for it. Then, to protect it, he raised up the fiercest mountains the world had ever seen - the Frostbacks - and covered them with snow and ice. And all of this, to guard his heart. To keep it from being broken, and to keep from being led astray by it."

"I suppose I can see why he'd want to do that," Rhianna mused aloud. If she could remove her own heart right now, she would be sorely tempted to do so, if it meant things would stop hurting so much.

"Can you?" The older man regarded her calmly, but seemed not to expect an answer. "Indeed, this might have seemed like a perfect plan," Arcill continued after a moment, "but there was a problem: without his heart, the Mountain-Father became cruel and unhappy. The empty space in his chest filled with biting winds that shrieked and howled like lost souls. All food on his tongue became tasteless, and music brought no pleasure to his ears. He found no happiness in deeds of valor or strength. Nothing at all could give him joy, and he became destructive, and sent avalanches and earthquakes to torment the tribes of men.

"Soon, both gods and men could no longer tolerate his cruelty, and they rose up against him. They called him a tyrant, and set out to end his reign, but it was impossible to slay a man without a heart, so any who tried to fight him died brutally. Soon there were no heroes left to challenge him. So the people of the earth called upon the Lady of the Skies."

"Oh, I've heard of her before. She appears in the form of a swan yes?"

"She does, indeed, and in the form of other birds as well. And, possessing a kind spirit, she took pity upon the people of the world and sent the best of her children – the birds - to scour the mountains for the missing heart. They searched for the heart - her swiftest, cleverest, and strongest children - for a year and a day, but none could find it. Not sparrow nor raven, not vulture nor eagle, not swift nor albatross were able to find the heart.

"When all seemed lost, the ptarmigan spoke up and offered to go looking. The rest of the birds laughed, for the ptarmigan is tiny and plump and flies poorly, spending most of its life hopping on the ground. The Lady refused to give her blessing to the little bird, fearing she would die in the attempt, but the ptarmigan set out anyway. Deep into the mountains she traveled. When the winds were too fierce for her to fly, she crawled on the ground. When the sun beat down harsh upon her head, she traveled at night. When the nights were too cold and threatened to freeze her solid, she buried herself in the snow to stay warm.

"In this way, she weathered the worst the mountain threw at her, and made her lonely way into the valley. There she could hear the beat of the heart just below the surface of the ground. She dug it out, but with all the terrible deeds that Karth had committed, the heart was now far too heavy for the tiny bird to carry. Instead, she rolled it inch by inch out of the valley and down a cliff. When the golden casket struck the earth below, it shattered, releasing the heart that was almost full to bursting.

"The Mountain-Father cried out in agony when he felt the pain of the casket shatter, and the heart leapt back into his chest, and once again he was whole. Quickly, before Karth could remove the heart again, Hakkon Wintersbreath bound Karth's chest with three bands of iron and three bands of ice, so the heart could never again be removed.

"And with this, the Mountain-Father became a loving god once again, and ended the days of his tyranny. From that day forward, gods and men alike refer to the ptarmigan as the most honored among birds, even above the loftiest eagles."

Arcill fell silent, and Rhianna could feel his eyes on her.

"That's a lovely story. About a lovely bird. I can imagine the precious little thing, struggling to get through the snow." She pushed herself up into a seated position. "And I suppose the moral of the story is that life is not worth living without one's heart?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"I wish I could believe that," she murmured. She was a bit surprised that she'd said it aloud, even though it was true. "Sometimes things just hurt so much."

"Indeed they do. And it's all right not to believe. Sometimes, it's enough to just keep putting one foot in front of the other."

She glanced at him. His expression was somber, but his eye were filled with kindness.

"You are Andrastian?" he asked.

"Yes. Although, to be honest, some of the things that have happened lately have tested my faith."

"Again, sometimes it's all right not to believe." He paused. "You may not know this, but the Avvar believe that the gods are with us at all times. Not far away, not up in the sky somewhere. We believe the gods are here with us, in all things. In the rocks, and the trees, in the music of the stream as it rushes down the mountain. They speak to us, always, and all we have to do is learn how to listen." He chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. "Perhaps this sounds foolish to you."

"No," she said truthfully. "It doesn't sound foolish at all." In truth, it sounded comforting. Much nicer to think the gods were nearby, and cared, than to consider the Maker, who had turned his back on the world.

"Good." He relaxed back against the tree again, and Gwyn ruffled her feathers as she resettled herself on his arm. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" She was confused. If anything, she should thank him for the story. "For what?"

"For what you said earlier, to Duncan. That you'll bring back the blood I need for this ritual of theirs."

"Oh. I'd hoped you hadn't heard any of that." She paused. "But you're welcome. You're more than welcome."

"Right now, I'm not sure I believe in this 'cure' they keep telling me about."

She studied his face. The lines were etched more deeply than they had been even earlier in the day, and his skin looked ashy and grey. The taint was quickly taking its toll.

"Sometimes, it's all right not to believe." She reached over and took his hand in her own. "I'll do my best to believe hard enough for the both of us."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, Amanda Kitswell, and to all my lovely reviewers: Vicky79, Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, and Riptide.


	12. A brave promise to make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grey Warden recruits venture into the Korcari Wilds.

__**1 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Korcari Wilds** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

As soon as the sun was up, Alistair led the Warden recruits out of the king's camp, and into the Korcari Wilds. Just a few minutes after they'd passed through the gates, the terrain began to change, until they were in something that could only be called a swamp. There were still raised patches of dry ground wide enough to walk upon, but there was now more water than there was land in many places, and a stagnant odor hung in the air.

There was something different about this place, too, different from anywhere else Rhianna had ever been, and the farther south they traveled, the more noticeable it became. It wasn't just the terrain, or trees and flowers that were different from the ones she was familiar with back home. It was something about the forest itself. The colors were too bright, and almost unnatural, and the quality of the light was strange and harsh, even as it barely reached through the tree canopy. And there was a feeling that grew inside her, like an itch she didn't know how to scratch. It was almost as though the forest was aware of her presence, and disapproved. It made her want to turn around, and hurry back to the safety of the king's camp, and this, more than anything, disturbed her. Never before had she felt uncomfortable like this in the wilderness, and it wasn't right. It wasn't the Wilds themselves that were unfriendly, but something else.

It didn't help that the wildlife nearby was agitated, both from hunger and the presence of the darkspawn nearby. Rhianna felt a barrage of anxious presences that pressed against her mind – foxes and squirrels, turtles and frogs, deer and owls and those songbirds who had not already fled the approaching winter. The whole balance of the forest had shifted, and the animals were suffering for it. Only the ravens, whose rattling calls echoes through the trees, seemed not to be on edge.

There were wolves here, as well, that skulked along the edges of the tree line, torn between their desire to flee and an almost insatiable urge to attack these humans who had entered the forest. Not out of disapproval; the wolves were merely starving.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one who noticed their presence. "There are wolves prowling around in those trees," Daveth said, as he reached for his bow. "I'll wager they're hungry."

"We don't need to worry about the wolves," Rhianna said. "They'll keep their distance." No matter how hungry they were, Rhianna's gentle voice in their minds urged them not to attack. This was for their own good; the wolves could never have withstood the swords and arrows and spells they would have gotten in return.

"That's not what Duncan said," Alistair replied. "He warned me that other scouts have reported being attacked by wolves."

Oh, that's right. Alistair, and the others – except Solona – had no idea why Rhianna was so certain they weren't in any danger, and she wasn't in the mood to explain just now. "I only meant that with Dane here, they're not likely to bother us."

Sure enough, the wolves kept their distance, and after a few minutes, with a cheerful glance at Rhianna, Daveth strapped the bow to his back once again.

As they walked, her mind turned to the previous day. Mostly, to her visit with Loghain. The anxiety she'd felt immediately after she'd left his tent had faded, thankfully, and now she just felt . . . empty, but in a good way. As though talking to him, and crying, had drained away the worst of her anguish. She felt rather fragile, as though this tentative calm could be shattered at any time, but for the moment she felt more at peace than she'd felt since leaving Highever.

It was curious, though, that Loghain hadn't received her father's letter. Probably, this meant he knew nothing about Cailan's intention to marry Celene. Not that it mattered just now; surely, that whole situation could wait until after the darkspawn were defeated.

That seemed to be a recurring theme: everything else was on hold until the darkspawn could be defeated.

Which was fine, really. It's not as though Rhianna had anywhere else to go. 

‹›‹O›‹›

About an hour out of the camp, they came upon the site of a recent battle. Both darkspawn and humans lie dead on the ground, along with a cow that was barely recognizable as such, so covered was it in blood and gore. There were dark patches on the ground as well, where blood had spilled, only it looked . . . wrong. Thin tendrils of corruption snaked into the grass, reminiscent of the pattern on the face of the dead man she and Loghain had found that day in the Bannorn, almost a year ago.

Darkspawn taint. Perhaps that's what had her so on edge.

She peered down at the nearest prone body, which was clad in scale mail. Clearly, these dead men were soldiers.

A scouting party perhaps . . .

_Oh, Blessed Andraste. Please, please, please let this not be Fergus' party._

She looked more closely at the man's face; thankfully, it was unfamiliar to her. Before she could move to the next body, she saw movement ahead. One of the soldiers wasn't dead.

She hurried to the man's side, and knelt close as he pushed himself up to look first at Rhianna, and then at Alistair, who had come up behind her.

"Who . . . is that?" he groaned. "Grey . . . Wardens?"

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Alistair quipped.

Rhianna shot him an annoyed glance, and shook her head. Had he really just made a joke at the expense of a severely wounded man?

"What happened?" She turned back to the man, her hands gentle as she helped him to sit up. He was badly injured, but probably not fatally so.

"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn," he replied. They just . . . they just came right up out of the ground. I know it sounds mad, but they did. Right out of the ground." His shoulders slumped, and he reached out and steadied himself with a hand on Rhianna's arm.

Her stomach lurched. "You were scouting? With whom? Were you with Fergus Cousland?"

"Lord Cousland? He was leading a group of men from Highever?"

"Yes."

"No, ser, I wasn't with him."

Rhianna let out the breath she'd been holding. There was no danger of turning over one of these bodies and seeing her brother's face.

_Thank you, Andraste._

"We did see them though, yesterday," the man continued. "Or maybe it was the day before? It was only a few hours before we were attacked, but I'm not certain when that happened. I think I was . . . knocked out, for Maker knows how long."

"Do you know which direction they were going?"

"I don't know exactly, just that they were heading further south as we were on our way back to camp." He pointed down one of the trails that converged nearby. "It was down that way where we saw them. Please," he added, "help me. I've got to return to camp."

"We will. You're not far at all from Ostagar."

"I have bandages in my pack," Alistair offered, sounding somewhat contrite. "We can do what we can for his wounds."

"There's a healing spell I can use on him, as well," Solona added.

When they'd done what they could for the man, Rhianna offered to escort him back to Ostagar, but he waved her away. "Thank you, for everything, ser, but I reckon I can make it back on my own," he said, and headed off toward the city.

Rhianna wasn't sure if she felt better now, or worse. Fergus had been seen alive, not long ago. But clearly, being part of a scouting party - there were half a dozen dead soldiers here - hadn't been protection enough against the darkspawn, at least not for these men.

She wasn't the only one who felt unsettled.

"Did you hear what he said?" Jory's voice was loud, and higher pitched than usual. "An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory," Alistair soothed. "We'll be fine as long as we're careful."

"Those soldiers were careful." Jory sounded anything but calm. "And they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the five of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army in these forests!"

"There are darkspawn about, yes," Alistair replied, "but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde."

"How do you know?" Jory insisted. He glanced to the north, the way the wounded soldier had gone. "I'm no coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back."

"You sound like a coward to me," Solona said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"How dare you?" he sputtered.

"You do realize," Rhianna interjected, "that being a Grey Warden is all about killing darkspawn, right? How, exactly, do you expect to be a Warden if you are ready to turn tail and run at the first sign of them? Anyway, we've got a job to do here, as per Duncan's request. Yes, those men were killed. Which makes it all the more important for us to be out here, doing what we do."

"I'm not interested in your opinion,  _Lady_  Cousland," he spat. "We all know why you're here, and don't pretend it has anything to do with your duty as a Grey Warden. You want to find your brother, who is probably already dead, and you don't care if the rest of us get killed while you look for him."

His words - "probably already dead" - hit like a punch in the gut.

"That's enough," Alistair said, before Rhianna could think of a response. He turned to Jory. "Know this: all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here. I'll sense their approach long before they see us, and we'll have plenty of time to prepare for an attack, or retreat if there are too many of them for us to face."

"You see ser knight?" Daveth said cheerfully. "We might die, but we'll be warned about it first."

Jory shot Daveth an angry look. "It just seems as though there should be more of us out here. Surely, with as many soldiers as are at Ostagar, we could have found some guards to accompany us."

"We'll be fine," Alistair said firmly. "Now, let's get a move on."

As Alistair knelt to put the bandages back in his pack, Rhianna called Dane and Gwyn to her side. She knew Alistair wouldn't agree for Rhianna to go with them, but her animals weren't bound by the Grey Wardens or any sort of oath, and could cover a great deal more ground on their own.

_Follow the path the scout indicated, and see if you can find any sign of Fergus. And whatever you do, stay together._

She wasn't overly worried about Dane - he was more than capable of taking care of himself. But those flocks of ravens could overcome Gwyn if she wasn't careful. As long as they kept close, Dane would keep Gwyn safe.

The hound and hawk were both were eager to search, not only in the hope they would find their mistress' beloved brother, but also for the chance to stretch their legs and wings. 

"That's your hawk?" Daveth asked, as they watched the two animals disappear into the gloomy woods.

Oh, of course. Daveth and Jory hadn't seen Gwyn before; she'd only arrived late in the day.

"Yes. She's been my companion for a couple of years now."

"A hawk and a hound?" Jory scoffed. "What next? I expect you have a horse hidden around here somewhere, as well?"

"No, actually," Rhianna murmured. "He was left behind in Highever." Maker's balls. She really didn't need to be reminded of Faolan right now, on top of everything else.

Alistair pulled out a rather crudely hand-drawn map, and Rhianna leaned close to get a good look a it. "This," Alistair pointed at a mark on the map, "is where Duncan believes the treaties are located, at what was once a Grey Warden outpost." He turned it ninety degrees, and then ninety degrees again. "But I'm not entirely sure where we are right now."

Rhianna eased the map from his hands. She looked up to orient herself with what could be seen of the sun, and then stood so Ostagar was behind her. "We're right about here," she pointed. "And it looks like the cache is in this direction, to the southeast."

Alistair was happy to trust her sense of direction, and they took off down a different path than the one Dane and Gwyn had traveled. Rhianna wasn't concerned; her hound would find her, no matter where she went.

A very few minutes later, they stumbled upon a gruesome sight: a fallen tree spanned two sides of a small gorge, and three men had been hung from it by their necks. They did not appear to be injured in any other way, but they were most assuredly dead.

"Poor slobs." Alistair shook his head. "That just seems . . . excessive."

"The work of the darkspawn?" Jory asked.

"Darkspawn, or Chasind - could be either," Daveth replied. "The Wilds have never been particularly safe, even before the Blight. But if I had to guess, I'd say it's probably the darkspawn. I expect the Chasind aren't hanging around here just now; they're smart enough to have made themselves scarce."

"Let's go around the other way," Alistair suggested, and rather than staying on the path that would take them beneath the bodies, he led the way around the north side of the hill. Before she followed the others, Rhianna stepped close enough to be certain Fergus was not one of the dead men.

As they rounded the curve of the hill, a low growling sounded close by. As she looked around to locate the source of the sound, a darkspawn appeared directly in front of her. It was one of the small ones - genlocks, Duncan had called them - and before she could draw her weapons, it charged.

She dodged out of the way, pulling her sword and dagger as she went. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that others had emerged as well, as if they had erupted right out of the ground beneath their feet, just as the wounded scout had claimed. Soon, the entire company was doing battle.

Rhianna parried a blow of the creature's mace, and had her own attack shield-blocked in return. She feinted to draw another attack, and used the opening to get in and stick her dagger in the creature's side. Another set of blows and parries, and she whirled around and decapitated the thing. As it fell to the ground, she ran at a hurlock that was moving toward Solona. Rhianna's attack did little damage, but distracted the thing long enough for Solona to send bolts of lightning from her fingertips. The hurlock was knocked backwards, and Rhianna easily finished it off with a blade to the throat.

She looked around. There were no darkspawn still on their feet, and a total of five dead on the ground.

Jory turned to Alistair. "Didn't you say we'd have some warning before they attacked?" For once, the man had a good point.

Alistair hesitated. "I can sense the darkspawn," he began, "but I think perhaps there are so many in the general area that I couldn't sense those few close by?"

Not a very reassuring answer, but as Jory took a breath to respond – probably to demand they return to the camp - Rhianna wasn't in the mood to stand here and argue the point.

"I don't see how it matters," she said. "There were only a few, and they were easy enough to kill. Let's collect the blood we need, and continue toward the old Warden cache."

Thankfully, no one argued, and they made their way in what seemed a southwesterly direction, although it was a bit of a challenge navigating the swampy terrain.

Another group of darkspawn appeared, and these were just as easily defeated as the others had been.

As they wiped their blades free of the black, sticky blood, Dane appeared with Gwyn close behind. The hound carried something in his mouth.

Her heart racing, Rhianna knelt beside him, and he dropped a metal medallion into her open palm.

"Maker," she breathed. The round pendant was cast in silver, and bore the Alamarri rune for "strength."

Fergus' name meant "strength."

Almost before the fear could settle in her stomach, Dane showed her what he had seen: the pendant lying in the middle of a dirt path, with bodies nearby, but Fergus was not among them.

"Rhianna?" Solona rested a hand on Rhianna's shoulder. "What did he find?"

She held the pendant up for the others to see. "This belongs to my brother. His wife gave it to him on Satinalia a few years ago."

With a beaming smile, Solona rubbed the back of Dane's neck. "Good job, boy!" She looked up at the hawk, who had settled herself in a tree just overhead. "And you as well, Gwyn." She looked directly into the hound's eyes. "Will you show us where you found this?" She looked up at Alistair. "That's all right, isn't it? Surely it can't be far."

"Yes, that's all right," Alistair replied.

Rhianna flashed a grateful glance at her friend.

Daveth offered Rhianna a hand as she got back to her feet. "Let's hope for the best!"

Jory grumbled something about having seen enough of the Wilds, and wanting to find the treaties and be done, but no one seemed to pay any attention as they followed Dane as he headed nearly due south.

Soon, they came to a clearing that contained some very strange arches. Probably originally part of a ruined building, they were now free standing, and appeared to save been decorated with . . . well, it was difficult to tell exactly what had been hung on the arches.

Whatever it was, they were shaped like the rib bones of an almost unbelievably large creature - a dragon, perhaps. The bones, if indeed they were bones, were wrapped with leather and attached to the columns to form a round arc. Had the Chasind put these here? Or was it the darkspawn?

Two corpses hung from the arches; Rhianna guessed that meant it had been the darkspawn.

Dane turned to the east now, and more ruins appeared in the distance. These looked Tevinter in origin, and were in the process of being reclaimed by the swamp.

As they approached a low wooden bridge, a flash of green light flew toward Rhianna. Before she could react, pain exploded across her left shoulder and she was knocked backward a step. The attack had come from the far side of the bridge, where a hurlock stood, staff in hand.

Rhianna drew her bow and moved to the side of the path, to take cover behind a fragment of old wall. With a loud  _crack_ , a burst of lightning flew through the air, as Solona cast a spell at the darkspawn magic user. Rhianna began to fire arrows at the hurlock, as the three men charged across the bridge.

She managed to get two shots off, but before she could fire a third, a pair of genlocks materialized directly in front of her.

"Maker's  _balls!_ " she swore as she dropped her bow and unsheathed her sword. A third darkspawn had appeared near Solona, so Rhianna sidestepped until she was between all three of the darkspawn and her friend. Dane leapt at one of the genlocks and sank his teeth into its throat as Rhianna clashed swords with another. A wave of heat rushed by as Solona cast a flame spell.

Rhianna parried a blow, but before she could recover from the parry, yet another darkspawn appeared. It slashed down at her with its sword, and she couldn't quite get out of the way as the tip of the blade tore into her upper arm. Ignoring the pain, she spun around and ran her longsword into the belly of the creature who had attacked. It fell, and she pulled her sword from its still twitching body, and turned to slash at another. She leapt out of the way of an attack, and Solona felled one of the darkspawn with another lightning spell.

Only one of the creatures remained standing, and it was quickly dispatched by Rhianna and Dane working in tandem.

On the far side of the bridge, the three men fought an even larger group of darkspawn. They appeared to have felled the magic user, but at least four others had appeared. Rhianna retrieved her bow, and, side by side, she and Solona sent spells and arrows through the air to assist their companions.

In a matter of minutes, all the darkspawn were bleeding onto the dirt.

Solona put a hand on Rhianna's shoulder. "You're injured," she said matter-of-factly, and then murmured soft words. An ethereal sphere of bluish light appeared beneath her hand, and she directed it at the wound on Rhianna's arm. Tendrils of light wound their way around the arm, and the pain vanished as Rhianna's skin knit back together.

"Thank you," Rhianna said. "And what about you? Are you all right?" To be honest, Solona seemed remarkably calm, for someone who'd lived her whole life locked away in a tower.

"I'm fine." As if she'd divined Rhianna's unspoken thoughts, she added, "I had to fight my way through my Harrowing. I don't suppose darkspawn are much scarier than the demons I faced in the Fade."

The two women crossed the bridge to rejoin their companions, just as another band of darkspawn attacked from a small clearing to the south.

With all four of the recruits and their escort working together, the darkspawn were vanquished quickly. Finally, Rhianna had a chance to survey the area.

There was carnage here unrelated to the battle Rhianna and her companions had just fought. In addition to the newly dead darkspawn, several dead soldiers lie on the ground. Not all the dead men had been left intact where they lay; one had been decapitated, and his helmeted head stuck on a wooden stake, and another impaled against the base of a stone statue.

Her stomach lurched; all of them wore Highever tunics and shields.

"This . . . this is Fergus' scouting party," she managed, as panic bloomed in her chest.

_Please, no. Please, Andraste. Please let Fergus have survived. Please._

Dane appeared at her side, and pushed his nose into her hand as he reminded her that Fergus was not among these dead men; he'd checked when he first found them.

She knelt beside one of the bodies, and gasped softly when she saw his face.

"I know him." Jory's voice, just behind her. "I know that man," he repeated. "His name is Harold. He had a wife and daughter back in Highever."

Rhianna looked up at him. "Yes, I knew him, too."

She stood, but when she moved toward another body, Jory put a hand on her arm. "Lady Cousland," he began. "I mean, Rhianna." He paused. "You don't have to do this. I . . . I know what your brother looks like. Let me . . . check. The bodies."

Rhianna blinked. "Thank you." She shook her head. "That's not necessary, though; Dane's already confirmed that Fergus isn't here. But thank you, Jory. Thank you for offering. That was kind of you." She gave him a smile, the first genuine smile she'd had for the man since they'd met, and he nodded in return.

She turned away as tears formed behind her eyes, both from grief - she'd known all of these men - and also at the thought that her brother could so easily have been among them. An almost overwhelming wave of fear hit her – what if he had already met a similar fate somewhere nearby, and they just hadn't found him yet? What if Fergus was dead, just like these soldiers?

Solona rested a hand on Rhianna's shoulder.

Rhianna turned toward her friend, barely fighting back her tears. "I'm so scared," she whispered.

"I know," Solona replied. "I'm scared, too. But he's not here. That means there's a chance he's still alive."

Dane huffed at her, and trotted to the middle of the path. He sat, and she caught from his mind that this was the place he had found Fergus' pendant. But if the pendant was here, where was Fergus?

"Follow his scent, boy," Rhianna urged, and the hound ran off to the east.

Rhianna ran after him, with Solona close behind; Rhianna had no idea if the others had followed. Dane went only a short distance before he stopped at the water's edge. The water here appeared deeper than most of the pools they had passed thus far. It stretched out to the south, and curved out of view, so it was impossible to tell just how far this particular channel might lead.

Dane sat on his haunches, and his meaning was clear: Fergus' scent ended here.

But why? What did that mean? Did he swim into the lake to get away from the darkspawn? In the muddy ground at the water's edge, there were footprints. More footprints than were likely to be made by a single man. But were they human, or darkspawn?

Then she saw something that made her heart leap. A triangular depression in the mud, as if a small boat had been dragged ashore here.

A boat. Had Fergus escaped by boat?

Was it possible had could have found a boat that had been abandoned? Or was it not abandoned at all? Perhaps Fergus had help in getting away. But from whom? The Chasind? That might explain the other footprints.

Rhianna stared out across the water, and Gwyn flew down and landed on her arm. The bird had flown out over the water as far as she dared with so many ravens about, and hadn't reached the end of the lake. Nor had she seen a boat, or any sign of Fergus, or other people.

Of course, the presence of a boat didn't mean that Fergus was alive, nor did the absence of a body. That mark could have been here Maker knows how long. And even if Fergus had gotten away, what if he were wounded, and died from his injuries? Or what if he'd been taken by the Chasind only to suffer some equally dire fate at their hands?

No.

No. Fergus wasn't dead. He wasn't. He  _couldn't_  be dead. She needed him. She needed to know she would see him again, hear his beloved voice, feel the warmth of his embrace.

A gentle hand on her shoulder. "Is this where the trail ends?" Alistair asked.

"Yes. But look." She pointed to the ground. "There was a boat. Perhaps Fergus escaped on it."

Alistair knelt and examined the impression in the mud, then looked out over the water, much as Rhianna had done. "Perhaps he did. I hope that's what happened." He stood again. "But right now, we have no boat of our own, and no way of following him. And," he glanced up at the sky," the day's half gone. We still need to find the Warden cache, and return to camp before night falls. We can't risk being caught out in the Wilds after dark."

He was right. Of course he was right, but the thought of walking away, of just leaving the Wilds without knowing where Fergus had gone, made her sick to her stomach.

"Listen." He tugged gently at her shoulder so she would turn to catch his gaze. "We need to go now, but I'll return here with you, as soon as we're able. As soon as the darkspawn are defeated, we'll come back here together, and I'll help you look for him. I promise."

He held her gaze, and it was clear that he meant what he had said. They weren't just kind words; he really would return, and help her look for Fergus.

"And you know I'll help, as well," Solona added.

"All right," she agreed. "And thank you. Both of you."

"Of course. Before we go," Alistair said, "let's build a marker so we can find this spot again."

"Yes. And we need to do something with the bodies of the scouts," Rhianna added. "We can't just leave them like that. We don't have time to build proper pyres, but we can lay them out for the wolves, at least. That's better than leaving them to rot in the sun."

With that, Rhianna could no longer stop the tears from falling. Solona pulled her into an embrace, and Rhianna clung to her gratefully, and cried. For Fergus, for her parents, for the soldiers who had died here. For Oriana and Oren.

And, not least of all, for herself.

‹›‹O›‹›

When a cairn had been built to mark the spot, and the bodies stripped and laid in respectful rows, Alistair led the way to the east, in what they believed was the direction of the Warden cache. As they traveled, they encountered more groups of darkspawn, including one particularly nasty bunch with another magic user, but working together, the five companions had little trouble killing them quickly.

Finally, they arrived at the ruin of an ancient building.

"This looks like it," Alistair said, as they passed beneath what was left of the columns and arches that had once enclosed the building's courtyard. While parts of the outer walls were in fairly good shape, along with a set of stairs up to what had once been the main entrance, the building itself had collapsed.

Fortunately, a large metal chest sat to one side of the steps.

"Do you suppose that's the cache?" Daveth said hopefully.

"If we're lucky, it is," Alistair replied. "I hope so, anyway, since anything left inside the building is most likely buried forever."

He walked up to the chest, and pulled it open. The lid opened easily, with a faint creak and a whiff of stale air.

"Damn," Alistair swore under his breath. "I guess we're not that lucky."

Inside the chest was nothing but a layer of old dust. No sign of scrolls, or anything else.

"Well, well, well." An unfamiliar voice rang through the air. "What have we here?"

Rhianna whirled around to see a woman at the top of the steps.

Before anyone could respond, the woman continued, "Are you vultures, I wonder? Scavengers poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely intruders, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

The woman was young, not much past thirty, if that, and she had dark hair and full lips, and her eyes were an unusual amber color. She wore a most unusual assortment of clothes: a skirt made of strips of black leather that hung just past her knees, black boots, and a sort of halter that didn't cover much of her upper body. One of her arms was entirely covered by a feathered sleeve that went all the way down to her wrist, while her other arm was bare.

A staff was strapped to her back; the woman was a mage.

"What say you, hmm?" She tilted her head to one side, as a wry smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Scavengers or intruders?"

"We are neither." Alistair's voice was slightly higher-pitched than usual. "The Grey Wardens once owned this tower."

"Grey Wardens? It has been quite some time since that name has been invoked here. I fear it means nothing now." She descended the steps slowly, deliberately, one at a time. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?'" Her voice was smooth, and soothing.

"Don't answer her," Alistair warned. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" she said almost gleefully, with a sweep of her arms.

"Yes." Alistair's eyes narrowed and he wrinkled his nose. "Swooping . . . is . . . bad."

"She's no barbarian," Daveth whispered loudly. "She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!"

"Witch of the Wilds?" Morrigan sounded amused. "Such idle fancies, these legends. Have you no minds of your own?" She turned to Solona. "You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

"I'm Solona. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The woman lifted a brow, but her smile looked genuine. "Now, that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan." She gave a nod of her head, in greeting. "Shall I guess your purpose? You came here seeking something in that chest. Something that is here no longer?"

"'Here no longer?'" Alistair brought his hands to his hips. "You stole them, didn't you? You're . . . some kind of . . . sneaky . . . witch-thief!"

"Alistair!" Rhianna shot him a glance she hoped would silence him. There was no call for accusing this woman of anything. She'd done nothing to threaten them.

Before Rhianna could say as much, Morrigan spoke again. "How very eloquent. I hope you are not the leader of this group based solely on your superior intelligence." She gave a pained sigh. "I do have one question, however: how does one steal from dead men?"

"What?" Alistair's brow furrowed deeply.

"The contents of that chest were put there many years ago," she explained. "A great many years. I ask again: how does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems." Alistair countered. "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not." She paused. "For 'twas not I who removed them."

Alistair opened his mouth to reply, but Rhianna cut him off. "Does that mean you know who  _did_  removed them, then? It would be a great help, if that were the case."

"Oh, now there's something new. A reasonable question. You wish to know who removed your papers? I'll be happy to tell you. It was never meant to be a secret. 'Twas my mother who did the deed."

"Your _mothe_ r?" Alistair sounded incredulous. "Is that some sort of a joke?"

"If so," Solona quipped, glancing at Alistair with an expression that almost certainly mirrored Rhianna's own, "it seems the truthful rather than funny sort of joke, no?"

"Great!" Alistair shifted his weight to the other leg. "So she's a sneaky, thieving, weird-talking,  _funny_  sort of witch."

"Oh, Maker's balls," Rhianna swore. She turned her back on Alistair, and addressed Morrigan directly. "Please excuse my companion." She let out a breath. "You said your mother took the documents? Does she still have them? And if so, would you be willing to take us to see her?"

"Ah. There is a sensible request." Morrigan smiled. "I think I like you."

"We can't trust her," Alistair insisted. "First it's 'I like you,' but then, ZAP, frog time!"

Rhianna turned to Alistair. "Weren't you trained as a templar?"

"Yes."

"Then we have nothing to fear, right? Can't you do something to keep her from turning us into frogs?" She paused. "Well, I suppose she might be able to manage one frog, but so long as you're not the first, you can keep her from frog-ifying everyone else, yes?" Rhianna turned to Morrigan. "If it's not too much trouble, if you do decide someone needs to be turned into a frog, please start with me."

Morrigan gave a hearty laugh. "You have my word. You'll be the first."

"There." Rhianna turned back to Alistair. "Are you satisfied now? There's nothing to worry about. I trust that if I'm turned into a frog you'll find some way to change me back."

"That's . . . that's not the point."

"I agree with the templar," Daveth said nervously. "She's a witch. She'll put us all in the pot she will, just you watch."

"If the pot's warmer than this forest," Jory said, "it would be a nice change."

"I do not meet many people here," Morrigan said in a conversational tone. "Especially people from the north. Are you all so mistrustful?"

"Not all of us." Solona gave Alistair another scathing glance. "Only the ones who are afraid of magic. Would you take us to see your mother, please?" She glanced at Rhianna. "The two of us, at least. The men can stay behind if they like."

"I'll be more than happy to take you to my mother. All of you, or some. Just follow me, if it pleases you."

Without waiting for any of them to reply, Morrigan turned and walked through a hedge onto a path that Rhianna hadn't noticed before. Solona followed, with Rhianna right behind, and after only a brief hesitation, the three men followed, as well.

Morrigan led them across a long hanging bridge that spanned a deep gorge, and down the hill. The path they took through the swamp twisted and turned so many times that, even with Rhianna's good sense of direction, she feared she wouldn't be able to find her way back without help, although surely Dane would have no such trouble. Even the trees and the rocks looked the same, almost as if they were walking in circles and passing the same places time and time again.

Finally, Morrigan led them up a slight rise where signs of habitation could be seen: a path lit with torches, a headless statue, and a ruined column with part of an arch still attached to the top. Just beyond was the strangest hut Rhianna had ever seen, and this seemed to be their destination. One wall of the ramshackle wooden structure was a section of an ancient ruin, and the entire structure leaned slightly to one side.

An old woman stood just outside the hut. She was thin, with grey hair that hung down to her shoulders. There were dark smudges beneath eyes the same amber color as her daughter's, and her gown was faded, and looked to have been patched time and time again. She had been a beauty once, though, and might still be handsome if not for the gauntness of her cheeks.

"Greetings, Mother." Morrigan said as she led the companions toward the hut. "I bring before you five Grey Wardens who-"

"I see them girl," the woman barked, and then glanced at the faces of those gathered before her. Her eyes fell on Rhianna last, and lingered. "Mmm. Much as I expected."

"Expected? Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair sounded petulant, but somewhat less sure of himself than he had when they'd first encountered the daughter.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe," the woman retorted. "Shut one's eyes tight, or open one's arms wide . . . either way, one's a fool." She laughed then, an uncomfortable sound that held little humor.

"She's a witch, I tell you!" Daveth's voice was hoarse. "We shouldn't be talking to her!"

"You think I'm a Witch of the Wilds, eh?" She chuckled. "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon." She clapped her hands together and threw her head back in hearty laughter.

"Quiet, Daveth!" Jory warned. "If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

"Now there is a smart lad," the woman chuckled, but then her smile faded. "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will." She turned to Rhianna. "And what of you? Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?"

"I'm not sure what to believe," Rhianna answered truthfully. Meeting these women out here, in the middle of this hostile wilderness, was unusual, certainly. But for all that Alistair and Daveth seemed convinced Morrigan and her mother were dangerous witches, so far the two women had done nothing to suggest they meant anyone harm.

"A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies," the woman replied, with a tilt of her head. "Be always aware. Or is it oblivious? I can never remember." More laughter; she seemed to find her own commentary very amusing. Or perhaps it was just that she didn't get many visitors all the way out here.

"So much about you is uncertain." The woman regarded Rhianna through narrowed eyes. "And yet . . . I believe." Her eyes widened. "Do I?" She chuckled. "Why yes, it seems I do!"

Before Rhianna could figure out what on earth the woman was talking about, Morrigan interrupted. "They did not come to listen to you ramble, Mother."

"True. They came for their treaties, yes?" She held up a hand, and turned her gaze to Alistair. "And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago." She pulled a handful of tightly rolled parchments from her pocket. "I have protected these for the past many years."

"You-" Alistair's face turned red. "You . . . oh. You protected them?"

"And why not? They would have been ruined had I left them in that chest, and they took up only a small amount of space in a drawer. It cost me nothing, and may make a great difference to you." She raised a brow. "Sooner than you think." She offered the parchments to Alistair, but as he reached for them, she pulled them away. "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize." Now, she allowed Alistair to take the parchments from her. Once he had them in hand, he backed away, quickly.

"The threat is greater than they realize?" Rhianna asked. "What do you mean? And how is it you know all this?"

"What makes you think I know anything at all? Perhaps I am simply an old woman with a penchant for moldy parchments." She threw her head back again, and laughed uproariously. Perhaps she wasn't merely lonely, but mad, as well. Abruptly, she stopped laughing. "Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for; that's good enough for now."

"Time for all of you to go, then." Morrigan stood straight, her chin held high.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests!" the old woman scolded.

"Oh, very well." Morrigan let out a breath, and her shoulders drooped. "I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

But as Morrigan began to walk way from the hut, and the others followed, Rhianna turned to the old woman once again.

"Ah ha!" The woman spoke before Rhianna had a chance. "I had wondered when it would occur to you to ask."

Rhianna's stomach felt hollow. "You know what I am going to ask?"

She was hit with a certainty that yes, this woman knew exactly what Rhianna was going to ask, although it seemed impossible. Mad or not, there was something . . . unusual about Morrigan's mother.

"Well, I have a guess. But that's not much fun for you, is it? Besides, it's possible I'm wrong." A cackle rang throughout the clearing. "So I shall pretend I don't know, and allow you to ask." Morrigan's mother tilted her head, and gave Rhianna her rapt attention.

"My brother was scouting in the Wilds, so I asked my hound to track him. We found the rest of the scouting party, all dead, but no sign of Fergus. I think he may have gotten away, perhaps on a boat across the lake. Perhaps with help. I wonder . . . have you heard anything that might help me find him? Or can you suggest anywhere he might have gone?"

For the first time, the woman's expression softened. "I am sorry, my girl, but I cannot tell you what you wish to know." She sounded genuinely regretful. "I have heard no word of your brother as yet. I might, however, be able to gather information about him. I do have ways of finding out some of what happens in the Wilds, and even the world beyond. Surely, I can keep an eye out and see if news of him reaches me."

"Thank you. I would be most grateful," Rhianna replied. "And if you do find news of him, if there is something you could do to assist him, to help him make it out of the Wilds alive, I will do anything you ask of me in return."

She arched a brow. "That is quite a brave promise to make, girl. You have no idea of the sorts of things I might ask you to do."

Rhianna met the woman's gaze and held it. "I don't care. If my brother is alive, and you can help me find him, help me bring him home safely, I will do a service for you. Any service you require."

The woman regarded Rhianna through narrowed eyes for a long moment, and then nodded. "I will help your brother, if I can." She paused. "And I hope very much that the opportunity will occur. I expect that being owed a favor by Rhianna Cousland will be a great boon, indeed."

"Thank you."

It seemed to take far less time for Morrigan to take them back to the site of the ruined Warden cache than it had to come out the other direction; no doubt, the girl had brought them a longer, more circuitous route, the first time. Morrigan said goodbye to them at the ruins, and from there they made their way through the Wilds toward the king's camp.

"I'm not sure that was a good idea," Alistair said, once they'd left Morrigan far behind.

"Not sure what was a good idea?" Rhianna asked.

"Promising that old woman a favor like that. She strikes me as the kind of person who might ask you to do something very unpleasant, indeed."

"I don't care. Fergus is my only brother. He's the only family I have left. If I can get him back alive, there is nothing she could ask me to do that would not be worth the effort. Nothing."

The look Alistair gave her suggested he was not convinced, but he said no more on the subject, and the companions walked mostly in silence all the way back to camp.

It was only once they had nearly reached the city gates that Rhianna realized she had never given her name - not even her first name, and certainly not Cousland - to either Morrigan or her mother.

‹›‹O›‹›

Jory, Daveth, Alistair, Rhianna, Solona and Morrigan. Created with LotR dollmaker. 

 

Morrigan, Morrigan's mother, Solona and Rhianna. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta readers Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and to all my wonderful reviewers: DarkspawnHorror, Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, Verdandi73, Vicky79, Jena13, Riptide, and Kenedii.


	13. The duty that cannot be foresworn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joining.

__**1 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Ostagar** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

As they approached the gates that protected the king's camp from whatever lurked out in the Korcari Wilds, Rhianna forced herself to breathe through the disquiet she felt about what was soon to come. Alistair had confirmed that the Joining would be held tonight, as soon as they returned to camp.

She wasn't ready.

She'd thought she was; Rhianna thought she'd resigned herself to this weeks ago. But now that it was here, she realized that all this time she'd held in the back of her mind some hope it wouldn't really happen. She was a bit vague on the details of just how a reprieve might have come to pass, but even so, she hadn't quite come to terms with the reality of becoming a Grey Warden.

There were options. Even now, there were options. It was a bit late to run away, although it could probably be managed. The simplest solution would be to go to Loghain. Yesterday, he'd offered to protect her, and she had no doubt the offer was sincere.

Something about going to him felt . . . wrong, though. Running to him, yet again, as she'd done so many times. In the past, it had always been the right thing to do, but everything was different this time. They weren't lovers anymore; they weren't really even friends now. And she wasn't sure why he had offered. Did he still care about her, or was it just that he hated the Grey Wardens so much he would do anything in his power to thwart them?

No, she didn't want to go to Loghain. Not this time. But that meant she would need to come up with some other way to stop this, if she genuinely wanted way out.

Did she want a way out?

The Grey Wardens made her uncomfortable. There were too many secrets, and what if Loghain was right, and they really were tangled up with Orlais? And of course, there was the possibility the ritual itself would kill her. So many reasons to escape, to find any way to get out of this thing that was being forced upon her.

But then they'd been out in the Wilds and had come upon that injured scout.

" _Who's that? Grey Wardens?"_  he'd said, and something inside of her had shifted. To him, they weren't dark and mysterious, or pawns of the Orlesian empress. To him, they were heroes. Saviors. A welcome sight in that darkspawn infested wilderness. Most likely, they'd saved his life.

What if Duncan was right, and only Grey Wardens could end the Blight? Perhaps they were needed. Perhaps they could do things no one else could do. Certainly, seeing the death and destruction the darkspawn had wrought, even in just that small part of the Wilds, had both terrified her, and inspired her to make certain they didn't destroy the rest of Ferelden.

Perhaps joining the Grey Wardens would be the best way to do that. The best way for her to do something good.

And of course, it had been her father's dying wish.

_You disappoint me, Pup. Won't you do this one . . . last thing for me?_

Those words still stung, as did the knowledge that his last thought of her was disappointment. Didn't he know she would do anything for him? That she loved him so much it was difficult to keep breathing when she remembered he was gone?

The guard on duty nodded to them, and smiled, as they passed back through the wooden gate into the king's camp.

Her father had wanted her to go with Duncan, and join the Wardens, so that's what she would do. She wouldn't run away, or turn to Loghain. She would stay, and become a Grey Warden. Perhaps wherever he was, Father would know that she'd done as he asked. He would know, and he'd be proud of her, this one last time.

‹›‹O›‹›

They arrived to find Duncan and Arcill sitting together and chatting amiably beside the huge fire. Duncan stood, his expression almost a smile.

"You return from the Wilds. Have you been successful? Were you able to collect the blood required, and retrieve the treaties?"

"Yes," Alistair replied. "I suspect we have twice as much blood as we need. And these, as well." Alistair pulled the scrolls out of his pack.

He offered them to Duncan, but the Warden commander waved them away. "You hold on to them for the time being, at least until after the Joining." Duncan turned to Rhianna. "What of your brother? Did you find any sign of him?"

The question caught her off guard, but Duncan's eyes were warm, as though he truly did care. "Yes," she replied. "Dane found this, which belongs to Fergus." Rhianna reached for the silver pendant that hung around her neck, and held it out for Duncan to see. "It was near where Dane found the scouting party, all dead, but thankfully Fergus wasn't among them. It appears as though he might have been able to escape by boat, but Dane couldn't follow his scent past the water's edge, and we had no way to search further. Once we have dealt with the darkspawn here, I intend to go out and find him." She lifted her chin, prepared for Duncan to protest, but he made no argument.

"There may still be Chasind in the area; if they are the ones who found Fergus, I'm sure they'll do whatever they can to help him."

"That's what Morrigan's mother said, as well," Solona said. "That's something else you should know about: the two women we met in the Wilds. We wouldn't have been able to retrieve the scrolls without their help."

"Oh, yes," Alistair drawled. "Morrigan and her mother." He shuddered slightly.

Duncan turned to him with an arched brow. "What's this?"

"We didn't find the scrolls at site of the old Warden cache," Alistair replied. "The chest was empty, and instead we found a . . . woman there. Or perhaps she found us. Anyway, she took us to her mother, who had found the scrolls at some point, and kept them in a drawer for who knows how long." He paused. "They were both very . . . odd. The women, I mean. Not the scrolls."

"Were they Wilder folk?" Duncan asked.

"I don't think so. They might be apostates, hiding from the Chantry out in the swamp."

"Of course they're apostates," Solona said, turning toward Duncan, "but there wasn't anything odd about them. They were extremely helpful, and it sounds as though those scrolls would have been destroyed long ago without Morrigan's mother protecting them all this time." To Alistair, "If anything, you were the one who behaved oddly. You and Daveth. Calling people witches, when they're only trying to help you?"

"You admit they were apostates, and you have no problem with that?" Alistair sounded genuinely baffled. "You know as well as I do the Circle of Magi requires an accounting of all mages. That is the law of the land, and of the Chantry."

"And you know nothing of what it's like to be a mage living in the Circle," Solona replied. "I can hardly blame them for wanting to live their lives outside of Chantry 'law.'"

"It's not-"

"Alistair, I know you were once a templar," Duncan interjected, "but Chantry business is not ours. We have the scrolls; that's all that matters. Now, let us focus on the Joining." He turned to the five recruits assembled before him. "I trust you are all ready to proceed with the ritual?"

Rhianna swallowed and breathed through the fear that had bloomed in her chest anew. All the brave thoughts she'd had as they entered camp fled, and she was scared.

Was she ready?

No. She wasn't ready. She wasn't anywhere near ready for this. How could anyone ever be ready for this?

She kept quiet though. Ready or not, it was surely too late to go anywhere but forward.

Jory, however, did not keep his doubts to himself. "What if we have second thoughts?"

"There are no second thoughts, and there is no turning back." Duncan's voice was firm. "Whether you were conscripted or recruited, you were chosen because you are needed to battle the darkspawn. Now, you must gather your courage for what comes next."

"Courage?" Daveth asked. "Just how much danger are we in?"

"I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later."

"Are you . . . You're saying this ritual could kill us?" Jory sounded vaguely panicked.

Duncan turned a calm eye on the red-haired knight. "As could any darkspawn you might face in battle. Not all who attempt the ritual will survive, and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is it the price we pay for the advantage it gives us over the darkspawn." He paused, and when he continued some of the hard edge had left his voice. "You would not have been chosen, however, if I did not think you had a chance to survive." Duncan turned to Alistair. "I've had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately. Please lead the recruits to the old temple. I will meet you there soon."

With Dane at her side, Rhianna made no complaint as Alistair led them to this "old temple," which turned out to be the place she and Solona had first met him. Everything looked as it had that day, except for the addition of a table that stood near one of the walls. Its surface was empty, though; there was no sign of anything that might be used to perform a ritual.

"The more I hear about this Joining," Jory began, "the less I like it."

Daveth turned toward the taller man. "Are you blubbering again?"

"Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition," Daveth shrugged. "Or maybe they're just trying to annoy you."

"Trying to annoy me? With a ritual that might kill all of us? I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me . . . it just doesn't seem fair."

"And when is life ever fair?" Solona sounded calm. Then again, just a few weeks ago she'd passed the Circle's Harrowing, where she had been face to face with demons in the Fade. It seemed unlikely this Joining could be much worse than that.

"She's right," Arcill agreed. His voice, too, was calm. Relieved, almost. No doubt he would be glad to be cured of the blight sickness that had ravaged his body. "Would you have come if they'd warned you? Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, isn't that right?"

Jory was not placated. "Including sacrificing us?"

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight," Daveth said. "The Grey Wardens have saved the world from darkspawn before. I'd say they know better than anyone what it takes. I figure, if they say this is necessary, then it's necessary." Daveth took a step closer to Jory. "You saw those darkspawn. Wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?"

"Of course I would, but-"

"No buts," Solona interrupted. "The Grey Wardens are not considered heroes for nothing. Isn't that what you wanted? Why you're here? To be a hero. Did you think would all be easy?"

"I . . . no, I didn't think that," Jory barked. "I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade."

"Neither have I," Daveth replied. "So what? Maybe you'll die. Maybe we'll all die. If nobody stops the darkspawn, we'll die for sure."

They all turned at the sound of footsteps on the steps: Duncan had arrived. In his hands, he carried a large silver goblet, which he set upon the table.

The people present formed a circle, and Duncan began to speak.

"At last we come to the Joining." He looked at each of them in turn, and held their gaze for a moment before he continued. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank the blood of the darkspawn and mastered its taint."

_Drank the blood of the darkspawn_? That's what this ritual entailed? Rhianna glanced at the chalice and shuddered. It made sense now why Duncan had refused to tell her the truth. How could anyone, ever, agree to this, knowing  _that_  is what would be required?

"We . . . we're . . . You mean we're going to drink the blood of those . . . those creatures?" Jory's words echoed Rhianna's own thoughts.

"Yes," Duncan said firmly. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us. As we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory."

Maker's balls.

Darkspawn blood had nearly killed Dane. He'd been strong enough to withstand it, but just barely, and Dane was one of the biggest, healthiest, strongest mabari she had ever seen. Would Rhianna be strong enough to survive this, as well?

And another thought: did this mean Dane was already a Grey Warden?

Beside her, he gave a low whine. Yes, he was.

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint," Alistair explained. "We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."

"This is true." Duncan's expression was grim. "Since the beginning, the Grey Wardens have been charged with finding those who are strong enough to attempt the Joining and recruiting them into our ranks, for the good of all."

Again, Duncan passed his eyes across all assembled, meeting the gaze of each of the five recruits in turn. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair cleared his throat, and spoke in a hushed, reverent tone.

"Join us, brothers and sisters.  
Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant,  
Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn.  
And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

Duncan retrieved the goblet from the table. "Arcill, step forward."

The Avvar glanced back at Rhianna, and she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Then he walked up to Duncan and took the goblet that was offered.

"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good," Duncan said. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

Arcill's shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. Then he raised the goblet to his lips and drank deeply.

He handed the goblet back to Duncan.

A few seconds passed and nothing seemed to happen. Then, his body convulsed, just as Dane's had done, and the huge man cried out and doubled over, with a hand to his head as though he were in great pain. His back arched and his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Maker's breath!" Jory swore.

Arcill dropped to his knees and clutched at his throat, and made a horrible choking sound.

"I'm sorry, Arcill," Duncan murmured. "I'm so sorry."

The Avvar collapsed heavily to the ground, still retching. He tried once to push himself up, but it appeared as though all the strength had gone from his arms. He dropped back to the ground, his arms and legs splayed.

His body became completely still.

Maker's blood.

Arcill was dead.

Rhianna reached out and took one of Solona's trembling hands in her own, and the mage wrapped her fingers tightly around Rhianna's.

Duncan turned to the warrior from Redcliffe. "Step forward, Jory."

"But . . ." He backed away, his eyes darting wildly as though looking for a way to escape. "But, I have a wife. A child. Had I known-"

"There is no turning back," Duncan said firmly. He set the goblet on the table, and took a step toward Jory.

"No. I didn't agree to this! You ask too much!" Cringing, Jory drew his sword, and retreated until his back touched one of the ruined walls that enclosed the old temple. "There is no glory in this!"

Duncan said nothing; he merely drew his own weapon: a wickedly curved dagger.

The two men stared at one another for the space of a few breaths. Hopefully Jory would realize this was foolish, and stand down.

But he didn't.

Without any warning, Jory swung his sword.

Duncan did not hesitate. He parried the first strike, and then, in one smooth movement that wasted neither time nor energy, he parried a second blow and drove his dagger into the knight's belly. Jory grunted in pain, his eyes wide with horror as the two men fell into a macabre embrace.

"I am sorry." Duncan's whisper barely carried across the temple. Then, he pulled his dagger out of the other man's body.

With a final grunt, Jory slid to the floor, and a pool of blood spread beneath him.

Duncan wiped his dagger and calmly returned it to its sheath. "We have not yet completed the Joining." He retrieved the goblet from the table. "Rhianna, step forward."

Rhianna glanced first at Solona, whose eyes shone as she gave Rhianna a smile, and her hand a final squeeze, and then at Daveth, whose face was pale, but he, too, smiled. Dane pushed his nose into her hand, and she could feel his fear for her, and his love as well.

_Loghain_. _If I don't survive this, go to Loghain._

He huffed softly in agreement, and then she willed her feet to move, to cross the space between herself and Duncan.

With a deep breath, she took the goblet from Duncan's hands.

How had her life come to this? Even a month ago, she could have never expected to be here. Never expected that all the dreams she'd ever had would be shattered. She would never marry Loghain, or Gauvain. Never be Teyrna of Gwaren, or Highever, or anywhere else. Probably, she would never marry anyone, or have children of her own. Never sit on the Landsmeet, or hold court in the hall of her own castle. She might never see so much as another sunrise, if the blood took her as it had taken Arcill.

Perhaps that wasn't the worst thing that could happen. It would end all her worries, and at least she would not die a coward's death as Jory had, nor have taken her own life. Perhaps her parents would be waiting for her at the Maker's side.

At any rate, no matter what was about to happen, it was far too late to turn back now.

So be it.

She took another ragged breath.

"You are called upon," Duncan intoned, "to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good."

_Blessed Andraste. Please have mercy upon me._

She brought the cup to her lips, and drank. The thick blood was salty at first, but then a sweetness filled her mouth: the cloying, overpowering, nauseating sweetness of rotting fruit. There was something else, as well, something cold that tingled against her tongue.

She forced herself to swallow, and the goblet slid from her hands. Had she dropped it, or had it been taken from her?

Her head felt heavy, and it was hard to take a breath. Disoriented and dizzy, she put a hand to her face and tried to force the fuzziness from her mind.

"Rhianna." Duncan's voice sounded hollow, and very far away. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

A burst of light flashed before her eyes, and a spike of pain erupted in her head.

Then, darkness.

‹›‹O›‹›

A cry pierced the air - a deafening roar unlike anything Rhianna had heard before.

Something huge and sinuous swept through the air in front of her, alarmingly close. She feared it would strike her, but at the last second it stopped directly in front of her face.

It was the neck and head of a dragon. An enormous dragon. Teeth like dagger blades poked from its jaws, and its breath was hot and damp on her cheek, and smelled of blood and death and things long buried in the earth. She saw herself reflected in one of its glassy black eyes and struggled not to look away in horror.

She'd seen this dragon before; it was the dragon in her dream all those months ago.

_Blessed Andraste_. This must be the archdemon, and she'd dreamt of it, long before the Grey Wardens had claimed her.

It roared at her again, the sound accompanied by flecks of saliva that spattered her face and her arms. Then, it tried to speak to her. Not with its voice, but inside of her head. Her mind was battered by a hissed jumble of sibilant consonants, nothing that made any sense. Nothing that sounded like any language Rhianna could imagine.

The dragon leaned closer and stared at her with that dark, unblinking eye. Then it tossed its head back, and roared, and again her mind exploded with unintelligible sounds. Even though she could not understand the meaning, there was an urgency - along with anger and frustration - that was easy enough to parse.

He was trying to tell her something. He was desperate to tell her something, but couldn't turn his thoughts into words she could understand.

But what was it he wanted to tell her? What could the archdemon possibly want to say to  _her_?

The creature swung his head at her once again, closer than before.

Then, the vision dissolved in a flash of brilliant green and white light.

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fabulous beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and to all my wonderful reviewers: DarkspawnHorror, wendolen, KatDancer, Irish_Changeling, Vicky79, and Riptide.
> 
> Also, wishing everyone a Happy Halloween, and a Happy Funalis, as well! (The way I reckon the calendar, Funalis is the equivalent of Halloween, and I was amused that these Funalis chapters fell at exactly the right time of year)!


	14. By this time tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna meets the rest of the Grey Wardens.

**1 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Ostagar** _ ****  


‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna's head ached, as something warm and wet stroked her hand.

When she opened her eyes, Duncan and Alistair both loomed above her, and Dane was at her side, licking her palm, as she lay on the paved stone of the temple floor.

"It is finished." Duncan's eyes glittered in his unsmiling face. "Welcome, sister."

"Solona?" Rhianna pushed herself into a sitting position. "Where's Solona? Is she all right?" Rhianna dreaded the answer, but she needed to know.

A slight smile appeared at one corner of Duncan's mouth. "Solona will be just fine."

"Thank you, Andraste," Rhianna murmured, as Alistair offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. Her head pounded briefly, but then the pain subsided and she just felt tired, with a gnawing feeling in her stomach, as though it had never been quite this empty before. "And Daveth?"

"He made it, as well." Alistair's face was grim, but his voice sounded relieved. "They'll both be just fine."

Rhianna was skeptical about that. "Fine" hardly seemed the right word for any of this, but she wasn't going to argue the point.

Solona made a soft moan from where she lay on the stone floor nearby, and Rhianna hurried to her side. When the mage opened her eyes, Rhianna gave her a warm smile, and helped her to her feet.

"We made it."

Solona's eyes were bloodshot, and her face ashen. "What about Daveth?"

Before Rhianna could answer, the dark-haired rogue groaned, and Alistair helped him to his feet, as well.

"Oi, my head." Daveth rubbed at his temple with the heel of his hand. "That was . . . not what I expected."

"Did you have dreams?" Alistair asked. "I had terrible dreams after my Joining."

"Yeah, I did," he replied.

"Me, too," Solona said. "I dreamt of . . . I think it was a dragon."

Rhianna glanced at her. "I dreamt of a dragon as well." She didn't mention that it was the same one she'd dreamt of before, all those months ago. "That was the archdemon?"

"Yes," Duncan confirmed. "That is the archdemon."

"Nasty bugger," Daveth laughed, but there was a strained note in his voice, and when Rhianna caught his eye, he raised a brow.  _What have we gotten ourselves into?_  his expression seemed to say.

"Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining." Alistair stepped forward. "We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us . . . of those who didn't make it this far." Alistair handed each of them a locket. Solona and Daveth tied them around their necks, but Rhianna slipped hers into the pouch at her waist. She wasn't ready yet to fully embrace this new life. For now, she would wear the charm that belonged to her brother. She intended to wear it until she could return it to him, after he came out of the Wilds alive.

"I'm sure you're hungry," Alistair said. "That's one of the things that comes with being a Grey Warden." So, that gnawing feeling in her gut was a side effect of this ritual? How many other surprises were in store for them as a result of drinking darkspawn blood? The memory of it caused her stomach to heave, although it didn't take away the hunger.

 _Blessed Andraste, what_ have _I gotten myself into?_

Alistair continued, "I thought I'd take you to meet the rest of the Wardens, where they're camped outside of the city. There'll be food there, as well."

The other Wardens. It made sense, now, that the recruits hadn't been taken to meet them before the Joining. What was the point of introductions, perhaps even friendships, if half of the new recruits were likely to die during the ritual? Why put the other Wardens through that particular brand of suffering?

"I'm game," Daveth said, some of the cheer returning to his voice, and Rhianna nodded her agreement, as well.

"There's something I want to talk about with Duncan," Solona said lightly. "Perhaps I'll be along after a while."

So Rhianna and Daveth accompanied Alistair, as Dane trotted placidly behind.

As they left the king's camp, a sea of people and tents stretched out into the plains behind the city. There were thousands of people - some eight thousand in total, if she remembered correctly. Even though Rhianna had heard the numbers, it was another thing to see them all in one place like this.

The Wardens passed by campsite after campsite, filled with men and women wearing armor, or regular clothes. Some joked and laughed, others were solemn and grim. In the fading light, the warm glow of hundreds of small campfires lit the sky, each fire with a knot of people around it.

So this was war. Rhianna had never seen anything like it, this many people gathered together like this. What a monumental effort it must have been to get them all here, and to keep them sheltered and fed. It seemed impossible that an army of this size would not be able to beat back any number of darkspawn. A trickle of fear ran down her spine to remember that Loghain wasn't certain this vast sea of warriors would be enough to defeat the darkspawn once and for all.

Around one of the fires, a large group of soldiers stood, and sang a song.

" _Your hay it is mow'd and your corn it is reap'd.  
_ _Your barns will be full and your hovels heap'd.  
_ _Come, boys, come, come, boys, come,  
_ _And merrily roar out our harvest home"_

Maker. That's right; today was Funalis. Rhianna had completely forgotten about the holiday until just now. There was something fitting about it, though. Funalis was a time for letting go of the past. It was difficult to think of any way to more thoroughly let go of her own past than the ritual she had survived today.

It was also the time to make wishes for the future, but that seemed a bit out of reach at the moment. Especially since the wish she'd made last year - to become Loghain's wife - had not come true, and never would. How stupid she had been, how naive and foolish, imagining the two of them kneeling in the Denerim Cathedral, with the Grand Cleric smiling down upon them as she gave them the Maker's blessing. Rhianna had thrown her bread dolly onto the fire with such certainty that this would be her future, she'd barely bothered to make it a proper wish.

No. No wishes this year. It was just as well she'd forgotten about Funalis for most of the day.

When they arrived at the Grey Wardens' campfire, the new Wardens were given a boisterous welcome by the rest of the group, all of whom were men. Thankfully, though, no one commented about Rhianna's gender. She was tired enough already without having to prove her worth as a warrior. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised, though. When you had to survive drinking darkspawn blood to join the order, surely there was nothing more to be done to prove that you belonged.

Logs had been stretched out on the ground to serve as benches around the fire, and food was shared, and thankfully the other Wardens seemed happy to drink and talk loudly together, without asking a barrage of questions of either of the new recruits. Daveth readily joined in the conversation, seeming to be in remarkably good spirits, while Rhianna sat quietly and enjoyed the hearty meat stew someone thrust into her hands, along with a tankard of ale.

About an hour passed in this way, with eating and drinking and jokes and stories. The other Wardens were a friendly bunch, and seemed to have accepted their new brother and sister with no hesitation.

Not long after the dinner bowls had been cleared away, a familiar voice called out.

"Grey Wardens? How fare you this evening?" Cailan approached the campfire to cheerful greetings from several of the men. He smiled warmly when he spotted Rhianna, and came to sit beside her.

"I understand congratulations are in order. And for you, as well," he added, glancing at Daveth.

"I suppose so." It didn't feel like something to celebrate, but that wasn't what the king wanted to hear. "Thank you," she added, with a smile she hoped looked genuine. 

Someone handed Cailan a mug of ale, and he raised it high in the air. "To our newest Grey Wardens! May the darkspawn fall before them, and may bards sing of their deeds for years to come."

A few of the others nodded and drank, but Rhianna sat quietly, unable to raise her glass to those words.

Roland, the older Warden who Rhianna had met on the way into Ostagar, raised his glass and spoke. "And to those who did not make it this far. Their sacrifice will never be forgotten."

Now, Rhianna did raise her glass and drink deeply. The bitter ale cut through the unpleasant taste that lingered in her mouth, but didn't do anything to combat the strangeness she had felt since waking up from the ritual. She felt tingly, almost, as if insects were swarming inside of her, crawling around in her veins. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, exactly, but it made her anxious, as though something wanted her attention, but she didn't know what it was.

 

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

In his tent in the king's camp, Loghain was restless. Now that Duncan had returned to Ostagar, Cailan's patience had run out, and the king insisted that tomorrow they would face the darkspawn on the battlefield. Nothing Loghain said could convince the boy that victory was not a sure thing; it was "Grey Wardens this," and "Grey Wardens that," and "We'll end this blight tomorrow." And most recently, "Did you hear? Rhianna passed their test?"

He tried not to think too hard on that last bit of news. Rhianna was a Grey Warden now. He had hoped she would come to him, agree to let him shelter her from their greedy hands as he had offered, but she hadn't. Something heavy and unpleasant settled in his stomach every time he thought about it, along with a vague hope that perhaps Cailan was mistaken. That this ritual hadn't been performed yet, and there was still some chance of saving Rhianna from it. Damn the Grey Wardens, anyway. What right did they have to claim her? Of course, the same could have been said, once upon a time, about Loghain himself.

A cursory glance at the map that was still unfurled on his desk reminded him of just how inadequate the current battle plan was. Even so, it was truly the best he could come up with, given Cailan's demands. And looking it over again wasn't going to change anything, so, needing to clear his mind for a little while at least, Loghain strode out of the tent.

"Is Cailan inside?" he inquired of the guard in front of the king's tent.

"No, ser. I believe he's gone into the soldiers' camp."

No surprise there; Cailan was in the habit of going out and drinking with his soldiers, or the Grey Wardens. It was a good thing, mostly. It improved morale for the men to feel they knew their king. But tonight, Cailan shouldn't be allowed to drink so much that he wouldn't be in good form during the battle tomorrow.

Especially since he still refused to entertain any plan that didn't involve being on the front lines with the Wardens.

Cailan probably wouldn't appreciate the interference, but it would no doubt be best to go and keep an eye on him, just in case. So, Loghain went out into the camp in search of Cailan. Along the way, he stopped to speak to various people who greeted him. He'd always had a close relationship with the soldiers in his command. As close as he could allow, knowing that he would eventually send them into danger. Tonight, though, he kept the conversations short, wanting to find Cailan.

Fortunately, the king was nothing if not predictable, and Loghain found him in the first place he looked: the Grey Warden campsite.

"Well, well, well!" Cailan said when he saw Loghain approach. "Look who we have here! Have you come to drink the health of two of our new Grey Wardens?"

"Of course," he agreed; there was no point in letting his apprehension show.

His eyes landed on Rhianna, as she sat beside the king, and again, something twisted inside of him.

She looked up at him, and her eyes grew wider, not so much that anyone else would have noticed, but he saw something there, something dark and more than a bit haunted.

It must be true. She really was a Grey Warden now.

He hadn't intended to stay. He had intended to convince Cailan to return with him to camp, and then retreat to the silence of his own tent to study the maps and drink just enough that he might actually be able to sleep tonight. But something about the way Rhianna looked at him made him unwilling to leave.

Not that she looked as though she wanted him to stay; if anything, she looked exhausted and a bit overwhelmed. But he felt drawn to her presence, and sat down beside her.

Just what had they done to her?

Rhianna was the only woman in the company, although Loghain seemed to recall that one of the other recruits was a woman, as well. A mage, from the Circle Tower.

Dane looked up at his mistress and made a noise deep in his throat. Rhianna nodded, and the hound got to his feet and moved the short distance to Loghain's side. Surprised, but pleased, he greeted the hound with firm scratches behind the ears. He had nothing to give him as a treat, but Dane didn't seem to mind. The dog settled himself on his haunches between Loghain and Rhianna, and rested his huge head on one of the teyrn's knees.

([Artwork by Mena](http://mena-art.tumblr.com/post/66647443727/commission-of-rhianna-cousland-loghain-mac-tir))

Someone put a mug of ale in his hand, and the conversation picked up again from where he had interrupted: some story about another Warden climbing out a window in Jader when his lover's husband had arrived unexpectedly at the inn. Apparently, the Warden had no time to get properly dressed before he jumped into the river below the window, and had to walk all the way home stark naked.

"Ah, but let's be fair. That was many years ago. Riordan eventually settled down and became quite the respectable gentlemen." This from an older Warden with a great, drooping mustache.

"Riordan may have settled down with Leonie," another Warden joked, "but that hardly makes him respectable. Nor, from what I've heard, a gentleman." A round of boisterous laughter followed, and the conversation continued along these lines for a time. Rhianna was quiet as she stared into the fire and occasionally sipped at her ale, although the man at her side - a wiry, dark-haired fellow - took an active role in the conversation.

As Loghain's eyes drifted across the other faces illuminated by the flickering firelight, one of them caught his attention. A young man with dark blonde hair, who laughed easily at the jokes that were being told.

Maker's balls. The eyes were different - brown, rather than blue, and set somewhat closer together - but otherwise, he was the spitting image of Maric at that age. The sweep of his nose, the square jaw and high cheekbones. Even the way he gestured with his hands was reminiscent of Maric.

Loghain glanced at Cailan, and then back at the young Warden. It was difficult to believe anyone could see the two of them next to one another and not realize they were brothers.

Or, rather, half brothers.

This Warden must be Maric's son. What was his name? Albert . . . no, Alistair. Yes, Alistair. That was it. Named after his mother, and then spirited off to Redcliffe, and fostered by Eamon until the boy was sent to the templars. So how had he ended up here? Well, that was obvious, wasn't it? Duncan must have found out, somehow, that the boy was Maric's son, and decided to recruit him into the Wardens.

"So." An older Warden with grey streaks in his hair turned to the new recruits. "How many darkspawn did you see on your foray into the Wilds today?"

"Far too many!" The dark-haired man gave a crooked grin that made everyone laugh, even though it was obvious he was only partly joking. "Really, though, I have no idea," he admitted. "This was the first time I'd see that many darkspawn, and I was a bit too distracted to count."

"Fifty-eight," Rhianna said. "We killed fifty-eight darkspawn today. In about seven hours in the Wilds. We never saw a band larger than twelve, and usually they were traveling in groups of five or six." The Wardens and Cailan seemed surprised at this exact count she provided, but Loghain knew she had always paid attention to those sorts of details, like when she'd given him the exact figures for the Highever Regulars out of her head, the last time he visited Highever.

An image flashed through his mind: Rhianna in a white nightgown, her face pale in the moonlight as she sat with her legs tucked up against her body in the window well of the guest bedroom in Highever Castle. On that day, the taking of a single life had changed her forever.

Tonight, she spoke of killing dozens of darkspawn as though it meant nothing at all.

Another memory, and this one hit him like a punch to the gut: a small girl with his handkerchief wrapped around her arm.

 _I don't mind having a scar. All real warriors have scars_.

That small, precious child had become a woman, and now she was, without a doubt, a warrior. Scars and all, and not all of them on her skin.

She didn't deserve this. Then again, no one ever did. His mother hadn't deserved her death. Neither had his father, or Rhianna's parents, and Oren. None of the soldiers here deserved to be throwing their lives against these monsters. That didn't stop any of it from happening.

This felt different, though. Perhaps it was just years of habit that caused him to feel so protective over Rhianna, to wish he could shield her from all of this, as he had tried to shield her from so many dangers in the past. Perhaps it was the intimacy they had shared, once upon a time.

Not that his "protection" had done her any good in the long run, had it? Her parents were dead, her home lost to Howe's treachery, and now she had been forced to join the Grey Wardens, an order with a dark past that promised to lead her into a dark future.

As the conversation moved on, something caught in his mind. What was it she'd just said? The Wilds. They'd gone into the Wilds?

He got her attention with a hand on her knee. "While you were out in the Wilds, did you find any sign of Fergus?"

Her brow furrowed, but then she smiled, as if grateful he had asked the question. "Yes. We found what was left of his scouting party. They were all dead, but thankfully Fergus wasn't among them. Dane followed Fergus' scent away from the site of the battle, to the edge of a sort of lake. I saw signs of a rowboat, so I am praying that he got away by boat, somehow. But we didn't have time to keep searching, and I'd need a boat to go after him anyway. I have to believe he's still alive, though, and once the darkspawn are defeated, I'll go back and find him."

 _Once the darkspawn were defeated_.

If Cailan had his way, that would happen tomorrow, but Loghain feared it would be only by the very best of luck any of them would still be alive at the end of the day. He wasn't about to say that to Rhianna, though.

"Fergus knows how to take care of himself out in the woods. If anyone can survive the Wilds, it's your brother."

"That's what I keep telling myself." She gave a weak smile. "And I know it is true." She closed her eyes. "It's difficult not to be scared though." When she opened her eyes, and caught his gaze, her eyes shone in the flickering firelight.

"There's no shame in being scared," he murmured.

"I know." She gave him another grateful smile, and they both turned back to listen to the conversation between the king and the other Wardens.

"This isn't the first scouting report I've heard that indicates there are more darkspawn than we've anticipated," one of the Wardens was saying.

"The horde is growing faster than any of us expected," the older, grey haired Warden said, a frown on his lips.

"I am confident that tomorrow will be the day we send the darkspawn back to the Black City for all time." Cailan's eyes glittered with enthusiasm. "With the Grey Wardens leading the charge, there is no way we will not succeed! We shall defeat them, for once and for all!"

The king sounded younger than his years, like an overeager child. Still, as annoyed as Loghain was with the king's fascination with the Wardens, Cailan was, if nothing else, sincere. The king genuinely cared about Ferelden, and her people. If only he didn't have so many fanciful ideas in his head, straight of out of legends and tales.

How had Maric and Rowan raised a son with so little common sense? Well, Rowan could hardly be held to blame; she died when Cailan was only three. If anything, Loghain needed to take a share of the responsibility. He'd done nearly as much raising of the boy as Maric had.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," the older Warden said, "we must not allow ourselves to become overconfident. The darkspawn are deadly foes, and that our recruits saw as many as they did today in the Wilds does not bode well. If the darkspawn number more than we anticipate, we will have a difficult fight on our hands."

The other Wardens nodded in agreement. At least they took this threat seriously, and weren't all living in Cailan's fantasy world.

"Your modesty does you credit," the king replied, "and," he shot a glance at Loghain, "I have no doubt my trusted advisor would agree with you. So I shall remain optimistic enough for all of us!"

"I think we need a song," one of the younger Wardens suggested.

"Yes," Cailan agreed. "A song would be just the thing!"

A guitar appeared, and its owner began to strum random chords. "What would you like to hear?"

"Do you know the Battle of Ayesleigh?" someone asked.

"Of course I do!" the man grinned. "The Battle of Ayesleigh, it is!"

He played a few more random chords, then launched into the song. His voice was a rich, clear tenor, and cut easily through the night.

_"The wind that stirs their shallow graves_   
_Carries their song across the sands._   
_A song of smoke that stung their eyes,_   
_Of tainted blood that soaked the land._

_In the dawn of the Exalted Age, the Dragon of Slaves awoke._   
_On withered wings, Andoral rose and from the ground he broke._   
_From Hossburg to Antiva, the darkspawn crawled the land._   
_Andoral called them to his side, and the Fourth Blight was at hand._

_Heed our words, hear our cry._   
_The Grey are sworn; in peace we lie._   
_Heed our words, hear our cry._   
_Our names recalled; we cannot die._

_The spread their taint across the plains, and the armies of man rose up._   
_But only the Grey Wardens brought the promise of hope._   
_On the field at Ayesleigh, a hero did stride forth._   
_Proud Garahel, with sword in hand, the killing blow he struck._

_Heed our words, hear our cry._   
_The Grey are sworn; in peace we lie._   
_Heed our words, hear our cry._   
_Our names recalled; we cannot die._

_When darkness comes and swallows light,_   
_Heed our words, and we shall rise._

_We shall rise."_

A hearty round of applause burst forth at the end of the song, and the Warden quickly launched into another, something about a beautiful Chasind girl who lived on the shores of Lake Calenhad. Then, a third song, this one a ballad about the Denerim Faire that every Fereldan learned as a child.

After the third song, he stood, and took a melodramatic bow before tucking the guitar away again.

"Another!" someone shouted. "We want another song!"

"Ah," the singer laughed with a wave of his hands. "Perhaps, but not from me."

"Surely someone else knows a song. Something about Andraste," another suggested.

For a moment, no one spoke, but then Rhianna broke the silence. "I know a song about Andraste." All eyes turned toward her. "It isn't a very happy song, though. It's about her death, and the way she went to face it."

"That sounds appropriate," the older Warden said. "The night before battle is a time for both laughter and apprehension."

Loghain leaned close and rested his hand on her knee. He hadn't heard her voice in so long; nothing would please him more than to hear her sing now.

"Please sing for us, Rhianna."

She looked up at him, her brow softly creased. Then, she nodded. She sat straighter on the log, and cleared her throat, and, after a last sip of ale, began to sing.

 _Spirit of the water, soothe away my anger,_  
 _For I am soon to leave here in great fear and pain._  
 _Surround me with thy beauty if it please Thee that I might lose my fear of the flames._

Her voice flowed effortlessly out into the night, and almost immediately, soldiers from nearby campfires moved closer to listen.

 _Spirit of the fire, hear me when I cry,_  
 _For I am soon to die and leave my people to mourn._  
 _Let me burn brightly if it please Thee that they might see my light and be warmed._

A crowd formed around the campsite, but Rhianna seemed oblivious. She didn't look around as she sang. Her face was calm and free of emotion as she stared into the campfire. The firelight flickered in her eyes, and glinted off her dark hair. Smoke from the fire stung his eyes and Loghain blinked. When he opened them again, he no longer recognized the woman sitting beside him.

 _Spirit of the air, lift my essence quietly,_  
 _So high above this gathering, and to the Maker be borne._  
 _Take me to His side if it please Thee that I might spend eternity as His bride._

As the words of the song rang out in the night air, he realized this woman could be none other than Andraste herself. Why she was here – in a camp of ragtag soldiers, men like himself who were surely unworthy of her presence – was a mystery. But that didn't matter. Worthy or not, Andraste had come to them, and favored them with a song.

He couldn't take his eyes off her face. He yearned to touch her, to run even a single finger across the gleaming perfection of her skin, stroke a lock of her dark hair, but he dared not do anything that might interrupt her glorious song.

 _Spirit of the earth, I give my body to thee._  
 _Oh let my ashes sacred be._  
 _Let the Chant of Light grow if it please Thee for to end our fear and our suffering._

The final notes of the song faded away into silence, a silence that no one broke for nearly a minute.

Finally, slowly, the soldiers who had come to hear the song wandered away again, returning to whatever they had been doing before being drawn here by Rhianna's song.

 _Rhianna's_  song. He shook his head, and silently chided himself for the ridiculous thoughts he's had just a minute before. Because it  _had_  been Rhianna who sang, not Andraste.

Andraste? That was even more fanciful than Cailan's notions about the Grey Wardens. Of course the Beloved Prophet had not come down to the campsite, and sang for them. It had been Rhianna all along; she had a beautiful voice, and put a great deal of herself into song, as she always had.

If anything, it was an insult to the real flesh-and-blood woman in front of him to suggest Loghain had felt so moved by someone or something other than Rhianna's own voice.

A conversation had started again amongst the Wardens, although they spoke in quiet tones now. Cailan was silent, his gaze focused on Rhianna. She hadn't moved at all since the song ended, but now something glittered on her cheek: a single tear, and Loghain fought back the urge to reach over and wipe it away. Her expression was one of quiet agony; probably she was remembering her family.

Maker. This must be so hard for her.

She swung herself around in a single, smooth movement, pushed herself up from the log, and began to walk away from the fire. There was something stealthy about her movements, as though she hoped her departure would not be noticed. Apparently, she'd had enough of the Grey Wardens' company for the evening, but after seeing the look on her face, Loghain was loathe to see her walk away alone.

He would go after her. If she didn't want his company, he would leave her alone again, but if there was any chance that he might be able to comfort her, even in some small way, he had to try.

Of course, if he was being honest, he had to admit he felt drawn to her not just for her sake, but for his own sake as well. Listening to her sing had awakened feelings within him that had been only shallowly buried to begin with.

He missed her so much. All throughout the past year he had done everything he knew to convince himself that he was fine without her, and that she was far better off without him. But even if those things were true, it didn't change the fact that he  _missed_ her. He missed her company, her conversation. Her laughter. The way she joked with him and teased him in ways no one else had dared in years. He missed being told he was "silly." And handsome. And good. He missed the faith she had in him, whether he deserved it or not. Just the few minutes he'd spent with her, yesterday afternoon and again this evening, had reminded him how much he enjoyed just being with her.

He had no right to approach her, not after what he had done. Even so, he would go after her now, and perhaps there would be some small thing he could do to give her even a few minutes of comfort.

Before he could get to his feet, Cailan stood and strode quickly after her.

Damn it! What in the Void was Cailan doing? Rhianna wouldn't want  _his_  company, not while she was in pain; she barely knew the man.

But Cailan followed her down the path and caught up with her. He grabbed her shoulders, and turned her to face him. He said something, and Rhianna nodded, but when he spoke again, she shook her head and turned as if she wanted to walk away. Cailan kept a firm grasp on her, though, and said something else. She paused, but then her shoulders sagged as if in resignation, and she nodded. Together, they turned and walked away.

Loghain felt a surge of anger. If he himself had no right to comfort Rhianna Cousland, Cailan had far less than no right to do so. But Loghain could hardly go after them now, without making an uncomfortable scene.

Damn it all to the Void.

He drained his mug, and accepted the refill that was offered. As he drank, rather faster than was proper, he forced himself to listen to the conversation around him, and attempted to push thoughts of Rhianna Cousland far from his mind.

 

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Rhianna's song had been beautiful, and very appropriate for the occasion. Cailan could never have imagined she had such a beautiful singing voice. Although, come to think of it, he had heard her sing once before, at his father's wake. This was different though; he hadn't really paid much attention to anything on that day, as he'd stared at the flames dancing atop his father's empty pyre.

Now, Cailan could see that Rhianna was upset. A single tear had rolled down her cheek while she sang, and something inside of him ached to see her suffer. No doubt, she was thinking about the upcoming battle.

He felt a stab of regret at the way things had turned out. She really was a beautiful woman, and he had once cherished the idea of making her his wife. That would never happen now, of course, and it had come as a relief yesterday when they'd spoken and she'd seemed to accept it, especially after the rather tense conversation they'd had on the boat back from Orlais. But she was a Grey Warden now. No doubt, it would be a good life for her; certainly, there was no higher honor.

Yes, everything was turning out splendidly. Rhianna was a Grey Warden, and if they could just finish this business with the darkspawn tomorrow, Cailan could return to Denerim and move ahead with his plan to marry Celene.

He'd been so annoyed that day on the boat, with the things Rhianna had said, but later, he'd realized she was right about some of it. The Landsmeet (and Loghain, especially) might not see how much this would benefit Ferelden, so Cailan would have to be careful how he went about things. Eamon was sure to support him, as would a number of others. As long as he went into the Landsmeet well prepared, things would go smoothly.

He smiled to himself. It really would be perfect. He would return to Denerim after defeating the darkspawn horde, and then he would unite Ferelden and Orlais in a new era of peace and prosperity. It would be the start of a golden age for both countries. And now that Rhianna had joined the Wardens, he didn't even have to feel guilty about her anymore. Perhaps she was disappointed, but Rhianna hadn't been harmed in any way, not really. Surely, this was the best possible outcome for all concerned.

She continued to gaze into the fire, not speaking. She really was almost unbearably lovely, even with her hair chopped off. The memory of her kisses sent a thrill running through him. She'd been so soft, so warm, when he'd held her in his arms. Perhaps . . .

He smiled to himself.

No, he wasn't going to marry her, but there was no reason they couldn't enjoy one another's company while they were here at Ostagar.

Just as he meant to lean close and ask if she wanted to go somewhere more private, she stood, abruptly, and left the campfire.

What was that all about?

Of course, Cailan went after her. He caught up to her before she'd gone more than a few yards, and stopped her, putting his hands gently on her shoulders.

"Rhianna? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she nodded. "I'm just . . . tired."

"It looks like more than that to me." He paused. "Come on. Come back to my tent, and let's have a drink. And talk."

"No." She shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think I'd be very good company."

"Don't be ridiculous! Come on. Please have a drink with me. We're going to face the darkspawn tomorrow, and who knows what might happen then?"

She hesitated a moment, but then, with a nod of her head, she agreed, as Cailan knew she would.

"All right. But just one drink."

They had gone back to the camp, and he'd shown her inside his tent with a sweep of his arm. For being at war, he thought his tent was very comfortable. Instead of a cot, he'd had an actual bed brought in, and it filled up one corner of the space. There was also a desk, and chairs, and a carpet in the middle of all of it. It was nothing like Loghain's dreary tent, with nothing but a chair and a cot and a desk covered with maps. Just because they had to be here to fight the darkspawn, that was no reason for being unduly uncomfortable.

He poured two glasses of port, and indicated that Rhianna should sit on one of the padded chairs. He pulled his own chair close beside hers.

"You looked unhappy, there by the fire. I expect you're thinking about the battle tomorrow."

"No, actually." She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "I was thinking about my family. About how much I miss my parents. And I'm so worried about my brother. We found his scouting party today, murdered in the Wilds, but I think he managed to escape."

"Well, that's wonderful news!" Oh. Wait. Maybe that wasn't quite the right thing to say. "I mean, it's horrible hearing that the scouting party was killed. But for Fergus to still be alive, that part would be wonderful, wouldn't it?"

One corner of her mouth turned up, slightly. "Yes. That part would be wonderful. I just wish I knew where he was. Knew for certain he was safe." She took a sip from her glass. Well, more than a sip. She drank more than half of it all at once.

"I . . . well, I do know what it feels like to miss one's family," he offered. "I still miss my father at times. I've missed him rather a lot lately, in fact. I wouldn't have minded having him here, if you know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean. I still miss him, too. So much."

"That's right. Sometimes I forget you knew him as well as you did. Can I tell you something silly?"

"All right."

"There were times when I thought maybe he intended to marry you, when you got old enough. Of course, then he disappeared at sea. But before that happened, I used to wonder about it. Well, Anora was the one who suggested it first, I think."

Oh, but maybe he shouldn't have mentioned that. She might not want to have been reminded that she was very nearly going to be queen.

Or maybe it would be best to talk about it, and get it out of the way for once and for all.

"Look," Cailan hurried to add, feeling rather inexplicably awkward. "I . . . well, I hope that you're not disappointed."

"Disappointed? About what? About not marrying your father?"

"No. Disappointed about us. You and I. That we're not going to be married."

"Oh. That." She almost sounded amused, and took another sip of her drink. A more normal sip, this time. "No, I'm fine about that, Cailan. I do think it will be better for everyone if you stay married to Anora, though."

"Yes, I know. You said that before, and I have thought about it. I truly have. I'm going to be careful about things, I promise. Anyway," he added, wanting to change the subject, "for now we have the darkspawn to occupy us. Until tomorrow, at any rate."

"You really think we can defeat them tomorrow? Loghain told me he's not sure there are enough soldiers here, not if the horde has grown larger. Perhaps it would be best to wait until Eamon's soldiers can arrive."

"Loghain." Cailan rolled his eyes. "He always looks for the worst in every situation, doesn't he? I don't blame him. It's just the way he is, and sometimes it's a good thing. I know that. But sometimes - this time - he's taking it too far. We have the Grey Wardens here - including you, now - and more soldiers have been arriving from all across Ferelden every day. We will end the Blight right here, assuming it even is a blight."

To be honest, he was tired of talking about darkspawn. It felt as though he'd done nothing  _but_  talk about darkspawn over the past few months, especially with Loghain. And now that he was here with Rhianna, he could think of a hundred things he would rather be doing. She was so pretty, her lips parted and slightly stained by the port, and it had felt so good to kiss her.

No, he was done with talking, for the time being anyway.

He leaned forward, and put his hand on her knee.

"You should listen to what Loghain says," she insisted, "and take his advice. He's got years and years of experience leading the army."

Cailan sighed. "Yes, but all of that was fighting against other humans. He doesn't know much of anything about fighting darkspawn, and that's where the Grey Wardens come in. Trust me, Rhianna. I know what I'm doing."

She didn't say anything. Her brow furrowed, and she looked down his hand, as if surprised she hadn't noticed it before.

He squeezed gently. "Rhianna. I . . . well, I was wondering. Would you like to spend the night with me?"

"What?" She blinked, twice, and her brow furrowed more deeply.

"It's a simple question," Cailan laughed. "Stay the night with me, Rhianna. Please. We're going into battle soon. Surely, no one would fault us for enjoying ourselves while we can. I might be dead by this time tomorrow." He squeezed her leg again.

She stood. "No, Cailan. I . . . I can't."

"Of course you can." He stood up and grasped her shoulders. "It will be easy. Just say yes." He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. She didn't kiss him in return, but she didn't pull away, either. He stepped even closer, so he could whisper in her ear.

"Please, Rhianna. You're so beautiful, and I want you so much. I'll make you feel good. I promise." He kissed her neck, just below her ear, and moved one of his arms around her waist to pull her close. Her body tensed, and he thought she would to yield to him and fall into his arms, but then she brought one of her hands up and placed it firmly on his chest, to push him away.

"No, Cailan. I . . . I need to go."

Before he could say anything else, she pushed the half-empty glass of port into one of his hands, and left the tent.

Damn. What had he said that upset her? He'd been friendly, and charming, and she'd left nonetheless. Well, now that he thought about it, Rhianna had always been a bit difficult to manage. In fact, he really couldn't think of any other woman who had ever said no to him. Of course, it was possible she just wasn't in the mood. She had lost her family, after all.

Be that as it may, he wasn't in the mood to spend the rest of the night alone. Fortunately, there were others here who would be more than happy to spend the night in his bed. He went to his desk, and penned a quick note.

_"Dear Catrin . . ."_

 

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

"What?" Had Rhianna misheard him, or had Cailan just asked her to spend the night?

Maker's balls. She'd thought he was being kind, but apparently he'd just pretended to be concerned about her, and her family, so he could attempt to seduce her.

Cailan laughed. "It's a simple question. Stay the night with me, Rhianna. Please. We're going into battle tomorrow. Surely, no one would fault us for enjoying ourselves while we can."

The hand he had placed on her knee kneaded her flesh, and she glanced down to see that a rash of tiny red spots crawled up his wrist. He was being gentle, but even so, his touch made her skin crawl.

She stood, quickly. "No, Cailan. I . . . I can't."

"Of course you can." He stood as well, and grabbed her by the shoulders, as he had back by the campfire. She froze, hoping she wouldn't have to defend herself more forcefully. She'd never had to do that with Cailan before, but there was a first time for everything. She'd never forgotten what Vaughan had done to her, and was as determined as ever that no man would ever touch her again in a way she did not want. Not even the king.

"It will be easy," he was saying. "Just say yes." He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, but before she could react, he whispered, "Please, Rhianna. You're so beautiful, and I want you so much. I'll make you feel good. I promise." He kissed her, just below her ear, and moved one of his arms around her waist, to pull her close. His breath was warm against her neck, and her body began to respond to him with something other than disgust. When he pressed his lips against the skin of her neck, warmth flooded through her.

Perhaps she should stay. He was right; they were going to war. Chances are she would be dead by this time tomorrow. So why shouldn't she do what she wanted? There was no doubt her body wanted this contact, wanted to be held, to be kissed, to be caressed.

But this wasn't right. She wanted to be close to someone, yes. But not to Cailan.

She closed her eyes briefly, and thought back to the campfire. The way Loghain had looked when sat beside her. The warmth of his fingers on her leg. The firelight dancing in his eyes.

It wasn't Cailan she wanted. It was Loghain. After all this time, she still wanted Loghain. She would always want Loghain. For the rest of her life, she would never stop wanting Loghain.

Maker help her.

Maybe he didn't want her. Maybe she would spend the rest of her life wanting a man who had decided she simply wasn't enough. But right now, tonight, she wasn't willing to settle for someone else. Not while there was still a chance of being with the man she really wanted. The man whose tent was just a few yards away. Her feet could take her there in less than a minute. Perhaps he didn't love her, but he had wanted her once, and maybe he would want her again, even if only for tonight.

And even if he didn't, she didn't want Cailan. No part of her had ever wanted Cailan.

She brought one of her hands up and placed it firmly on his chest, and pushed him away. "No, Cailan. I . . . I need to go." Before he could try and convince her to stay, she pushed the half-empty glass of port into one of his hands, and hurried out of the tent.

Once outside, she took a moment to catch her breath. Did she really mean to do this? To go to Loghain right now? What would she say? "Make love to me?" The way he'd looked at her while she sang . . . maybe . . . just maybe he still wanted her.

And what if he said no? Would she beg?

No. Not that. She wouldn't beg. She would never beg. But she would go to him, and if he pushed her away, she would ask him why. Ask him to tell her, finally, what had made him change his mind about her, after saying he wanted to marry her. Ask him what she had done to drive him away.

She took a deep breath, and crossed over to the guard outside Loghain's tent. "Is the teyrn inside?" she asked.

"No, ser. I think he's still out in the soldiers' camp."

Rhianna felt all the air go out of her. She'd gathered all of her resolve to seek him out, and he wasn't even here. She felt like both laughing and crying, but instead forced her expression to remain neutral.

"Oh," she said. "Well, thank you."

"Would you like me to give him a message for you?"

"Yes. Please tell him . . ."

What? Please tell him what? What message could she leave that would convey even a fraction of her reasons for coming? And even if she could leave such a message, she wasn't sure that she wanted to. She needed to do this face to face. Find out if he wanted her, and if he didn't, what she had done to drive him away.

"Never mind. There's no message. I'll just try and speak with him tomorrow."

Feeling adrift, and lonelier than before, she decided to go back to the campfire, with the rest of the Wardens. Perhaps Loghain was still there, and she could ask him if he would talk to her privately. As she approached the fire, however, she could see that Loghain was gone, as was Dane. Daveth was still there, and Alistair, but she wasn't in the mood for the rest of the Wardens. Not that they hadn't been kind to her, but the thought of making conversation with people she barely knew was just too much effort right now.

She returned to the king's camp, and as she approached the tents the Warden recruits had been given, a light flickering inside Duncan's tent told her that he was there. She thought about visiting him, just to hear a friendly voice, but quickly rejected the idea. She didn't really want to have to make conversation with him, either.

The tent she shared with Solona was empty. That was odd. Solona had never joined them at the campfire, and if she wasn't here, then where was she? Maybe she'd gone to find her cousins.

She felt the familiar pressure on her mind a moment before Dane nosed his way through the tent flap. That, at least, cheered her, and she greeted him warmly, scratching his ears and allowing him to lick her face. As long as she had Dane, she would never truly be alone. And tomorrow she would find Loghain, and talk to him. One way or the other, she would find out for certain how he felt.

Rhianna lay on her cot, and Dane lay on the ground beside her. Within just a few minutes, they were both sound asleep.

 

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Not long after Rhianna left, Loghain had finished the ale and bid the Wardens good night. They were friendly enough, but he had no interest in making small talk.

He took a long route back to camp, enjoying the anonymity of darkness to wander unrecognized, and be left to his own thoughts. Here and there, voices were raised in song - the harvest song traditional on Funalis.

Balls. Today was Funalis, wasn't it? He'd forgotten all about it. He usually enjoyed the holiday, which offered a chance to unburden oneself of the mistakes of the past year, and form good intentions - no matter how short lived they would prove - for the year ahead.

His good intentions this time last year had proven short lived indeed. Standing at the bonfire in the market square, he'd tossed his dolly on the fire and wished for one thing: to marry the woman at his side.

No, he didn't want to think about Rhianna. Not now, not tonight. He wanted to think of anything  _but_  her. Except the memory of her face - haunted and worn, dark circles beneath her eyes - kept returning. He still cared about her, perhaps as much as he ever had. That didn't mean anything had changed. There was no future for them - certainly not now that she'd joined the Grey Wardens - but he couldn't deny that he wanted her.

What if she still wanted him, the way she once had? The way she had last year on Funalis, when she'd offered herself to him in the library of Highever House. And later, the evening they'd spent at Fort Drakon.

Tonight, there had been something in her eyes when they'd spoken. Not desire, no, but a warmth that reminded him of the way things had been between them . . . before. Before everything fell apart. And they had been good together, in that way. He had given her pleasure, and she had most assuredly given him pleasure. Blessed Andraste, just the thought of that night was enough to bring him into a state of arousal.

Would it be so wrong to lay with her, even if it was just one last time?

They were going into battle. Chances are, he would be dead by this time tomorrow.

Either way, there was no harm in talking to her. Even if talking was all they ended up doing.

His mind made up, he returned to the king's camp. If he wasn't mistaken, she was sharing a tent with one of the other recruits, near where Duncan had his headquarters.

As he passed by Cailan's tent, something caught his attention. It looked as though only a single candle was lit. This was unusual. Was the king still awake; it was past midnight, after all. Perhaps Loghain would make one last attempt to reason with the boy, and convince him that the battle he had planned for the morrow was not a good idea.

As he approached the tent, the king's guard put a hand up to stop him. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but King Cailan asked not to be disturbed."

"I just want to speak with him briefly," Loghain replied.

"The king was quite clear." The man's tone was apologetic. "He was not to be disturbed. Not by anyone. He's . . ." The guard took a quick breath. "He's . . . entertaining company, my lord."

Loghain's eyes narrowed. Entertaining company? That meant a woman.

"Who is he with?"

"I . . . I'm not sure it's my place to say?"

"Who?"

"I don't know her name, Commander. A woman with dark hair. Very pretty. Rather distinctive green eyes."

Maker's balls.

Dark hair and green eyes?

Rhianna. It had to be Rhianna.

They'd left the campfire together. Cailan must have asked her to stay the night with him.

And she had agreed.

He spun on his heel and crossed to his own tent. Without a word to his guard, he pushed his way past the tent flap, and sat heavily on the cot, vaguely aware of the creaking sound it made in protest.

Rhianna. And Cailan. He would never have thought such a thing possible. Rhianna had always been kind about the king, but it was obvious she had never particularly liked him, nor had she approved of his extramarital activities. The girl Loghain had known once upon a time would have never lain with Cailan.

But a year is plenty of time for a person to change. It appeared Rhianna had done just that. No doubt, Loghain himself was as much to blame as anyone, but that hardly excused her behavior, nor did it make it any easier for him to accept.

Was this the first time? A thought came into his head unbidden: Cailan's absurd story about Rhianna falling in love with some Orlesian lord. What if that had been a smokescreen, not for Cailan to hide his affair with a woman from Orlais, but to hide the fact that Cailan had started up something with Rhianna?

Was such a thing even possible?

The king had visited Highever not long after last year's Landsmeet. By that time, Loghain had returned to Gwaren, distracted by his own troubles, and hadn't spared much of a thought for the king's activities.

Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed himself to be so unobservant.

Either way, it hardly mattered whether they had started this thing months ago, or if tonight was the first time she lay in his arms. Maker's balls. Rhianna and Cailan? His stomach churned.

Of course, the thought of Rhianna with any other man was bad enough, but it wasn't fair of him to be angry about that. After all, he could hardly expect her to remain faithful to the memory of a man who'd abandoned her. He'd expected that eventually word would come to him that she'd married. Nathaniel Howe, perhaps, or one of Gallagher Wulff's boys, or maybe one of the Vaels from Starkhaven. It would still have hurt, but this? This was beyond anything he could ever have imagined. The woman he loved and the man who was married to his own daughter. And not just that; hadn't Anora and Rhianna been friends? This was a betrayal of just about everything the Rhianna he'd once known had stood for.

Fighting back his anger, and something even darker that was obviously jealousy, he tugged at his shirt, to free it from his trousers. As he pulled it over his head, it got caught on his pendant, and he had to yank it free.

He tossed the shirt on the floor and turned his attention to the silver pendant. A turtle, with Alamarri knot work on the shell, and an inscription underneath.

_Be safe. Love, Rhianna_

The gift she had given him before he left on his voyage to search for Maric. Since that day, he had only taken it off two times, when its leather thong had worn through and needed to be replaced. Even after he had walked away from her, he continued to wear it. It made him feel safe, and loved, in spite of the fact he clearly deserved neither of those things.

Now, the thought of it disgusted him. The thought of wearing her gift around his neck made his stomach lurch, knowing she was just a few yards away, in the arms of the king.

Pulling the dagger from his boot, he slit the leather strap, and the pendant dropped lightly into his lap.

He looked at it, and turned it over to read the inscription one last time.

_Be safe. Love, Rhianna_

Rage welled up inside of him, and this time he didn't even try to fight it. The words she'd had inscribed meant nothing now. Less than nothing. All the history he had with Rhianna, so many years as her friend and then, far too briefly, as her lover, and it was all gone, destroyed in a single moment.

Anything he and Rhianna had ever shared was over, well and truly over, and all of it meant nothing at all now.

Furious, he threw the pendant aside, and it landed with a soft  _pish_  in one corner of his tent.

His head ached, and his vision grew blurry.

Damn it. His hands clenched into fists, and he pounded them down on the cot. Another surge of fury, but this one directed at himself.

Because he wished Rhianna were here with him now. In spite of his anger, and disgust, more than anything, he wished she were here. Even if she no longer wanted him, even if she'd become the sort of woman to lay with the husband of a friend, just the sound of her voice would have cheered him. Would have made him feel for a moment as though his life were constructed of something more than brokenness and disaster and loneliness.

Clearly, it was not meant to be. And what a pathetic excuse of a man he was, that he could still want her, even now.

Forcing his fists to unclench, he laid down on the cot.

He was too old for this. Too old for any of this. For the darkspawn, for this war, for these feelings he had for Rhianna. To think that he had loved her, had nearly married her.

And now she was in the arms of another man, only a few yards from where he lay.

Surely, this was a sign from the Maker that Loghain's time had come. Perhaps the darkspawn would prove to be his salvation. To die in battle, a hero's death, was better than he deserved.

But if death is what came for him by this time tomorrow, he would welcome it.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, and Amanda Kitswell, and also to all my fabulous reviewers: KatDancer, DarkspawnHorror, Irish_Changeling, Vicky79, and Riptide. 
> 
> "The Battle of Ayesleigh," is a combination of lyrics from the Codex, and additional verses written by me. Sooner or later, I'll do a recording of it, but it wasn't finished in time to be released along with this chapter. There is, however, a recording of "Spirits," which can be found (along with "Harvest Home" and "Lakes of Calenhad") by visiting my "Dragon Age Extras."


	15. A glorious moment for us all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna is invited to the strategy meeting before the Battle of Ostagar.

__**2 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Ostagar** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

The stench that assaulted her nostrils smelled of death, and sulfur, and molasses, and blood. A cacophony of groans and grunts and growls echoed around her until it was impossible to tell one voice from another. Above, darkness stretched up with no moon or stars to provide any light.

She must be underground.

With growing dread, she looked around. As her eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering light, she saw that she was surrounded by darkspawn. More darkspawn than she could ever have imagined. They moved around her, like a single organism that writhed and shifted and devoured all it touched. She wasn't sure how she had come to be here, but she froze, not wanting them to notice her presence. There was no way she could fight this many darkspawn and survive.

But a hurlock - the skin of its face so tattered that the soft gleam of white skull showed through in places - turned and looked directly at her. Her body tensed, and she prepared to defend herself, but the creature didn't attack. It merely grinned, a horrible grin of pointed teeth and blackened gums, and turned away again.

Why didn't it attack? It had seen her, she knew it had. Was it really going to just leave her alone? Or . . .

Maker's breath.

It was going to leave her alone because it didn't feel threatened. Was the taint inside of her enough that the darkspawn didn't even recognize her as human? Was that what Duncan meant when he said the ritual would change her? Was she practically a darkspawn now, herself?

She glanced down and found she wore rusted armor, and clutched a battered axe in her hand.

An axe? She'd never fought with an axe before.

The dread that had started at the base of her spine began to creep upward. As though they were on fire, she tossed the weapon to the ground, and clawed off the gauntlet that covered her hand and forearm.

She gasped as the gauntlet fell to the ground.

Her skin was . . . ruined. It was dark red and bumpy, with scaly patches and scabs, and places where the flesh was torn and pus oozed out of the wounds. She reached up and found the skin on her face destroyed, as well. And when she ran a hand across her head, she felt bare skin with the occasional patch of straggly hair. And the stench that turned her stomach with each breath, an odor like rotting fruit and gangrene . . . it wasn't something nearby that she smelled.

It was  _her_  smell.

_Blessed Andraste_.

The darkspawn didn't attack because they didn't recognize her as different. She  _wasn't_  different. She was a darkspawn. That is what Duncan had done to her, what drinking that foul blood had done. It hadn't killed her.

It had done something far, far worse.

One of the taller darkspawn approached now, but there was something familiar about it. The creature wore a tarnished silver cuirass and pauldrons over a long bloodstained tunic. The overskirt that circled its waist was filthy and barely recognizable as a garment. What was left of its hair was pulled back into a queue, and patches of beard clung to its scabrous face.

"This is the source of our power," Duncan shouted. "The source of our power, and our victory! Grey Wardens must defeat the darkspawn by any means necessary." He grabbed her shoulders. "Any means necessary!" One of his skeletal fingers pierced her flesh, and the skin tore with a moist popping sound.

Pain exploded in her arm as Duncan shook her violently, and Rhianna threw back her head and screamed.

‹›‹O›‹›

With a gasp, Rhianna sat up, clutched at her blanket, and blinked in terror.

Instead of the flickering dark underground, she was bathed in soft, warm light that was tinted yellow from the fabric of the tent.

Letting loose her hold on the blanket, she spread her hands out in front of her, and examined them in the pale morning light. Her skin looked as it always had: smooth and pale with blue veins and tiny brown freckles. She felt her face, and her hair. Everything was as it should be. She hadn't transformed into a darkspawn.

Maker's balls. It had been a dream. Alistair said something about dreams, but he hadn't prepared her for this.

Dane put his paws in her lap, and looked up at her with concern.

"I'm all right, boy. I just had a bad dream."

He whimpered softly in empathy; he'd had bad dreams, too, since he first tasted darkspawn blood a year ago.

She looked around the tent to discover that, other than Dane, she was alone. Solona's cot looked as though it had not been slept in at all.

That seemed strange, and somewhat alarming. Rhianna dressed in a hurry, and turned to Dane.

"Let's go find her, boy."

Dane barked once in agreement.

Outside, Rhianna saw no sign of Solona, or any of the other Wardens. Dane sniffed at the ground, and then trotted to Duncan's tent and sat down on his haunches.

Good idea; if Solona was missing, Duncan should be the first to know.

"Duncan?" She wasn't sure whether or not she should put her head through the flap. "Duncan?"

She heard a muffled voice, and then someone moving around inside. Rhianna took a step back as the Warden commander, wearing only a pair of trousers, came out of the tent.

"Rhianna? What is it? Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure." Vaguely embarrassed, Rhianna averted her eyes from Duncan's bare chest. At least he hadn't turned into a darkspawn, like she'd dreamt about. "Um . . . it's just that Solona . . . well, I don't know where she is. She wasn't there when I went to bed last night, and she wasn't there when I woke up, either. I'm worried about her."

"It's good of you to check on her," Duncan chuckled. "But I promise, you have no cause for concern."

"Then you know where she is?"

Before he could answer, Solona stuck her head through the flap of the tent. "Good morning, Rhianna!"

Solona's hair was down and somewhat disheveled, and her cheeks were flushed.

Maker's breath. Had she . . .?

She must have spent the night with Duncan.

"Don't look so shocked," Solona laughed.

Rhianna fought to smooth her brow, and she clamped her lips together, which caused Solona to laugh even harder. A smile played at the corner of Duncan's lips, as well.

"I'm . . . I'm not shocked . . . Um, I just . . . I was worried when I thought you were missing, and wanted to make sure that you are all right. Which, I can see that you are, so I'll go now."

She turned to walk away, but Solona put a hand on her arm. "Wait for me, will you? I'm so hungry. Just give me a minute to get dressed, and we can go find some breakfast together."

"All right. I'll wait by the fire."

Solona grabbed Duncan's arm and tugged him back inside the tent. Laughing, he complied.

With Dane at her side, Rhianna sat near the fire.

Solona and Duncan. Now that the initial surprise had worn off a bit, she chuckled, and her lips curved into a smile. This is what Solona had wanted all along; thankfully, Duncan wanted it, too. And this must mean there weren't rules about Grey Wardens . . . fraternizing with one another.

As happy as she was for them both, something else lurked beneath the rush of pleasure it had given her to know that Solona's feelings for Duncan weren't unrequited. Not jealousy - she didn't want Duncan for herself, of course, and she would never begrudge her friend even a single moment of happiness. But something ached inside her to know Solona had spent the night wrapped up in the arms of someone who wanted her.

She'd wanted that for herself, with Loghain, but it hadn't happened. Now, in the light of day, it seemed so foolish that she'd thought it might have been possible. He didn't want her; he'd made that clear more than a year ago. No doubt it was a blessing that he hadn't been in his tent; it would have been even more awful to have been rejected. The resolve she felt last night, to go and speak with him today, began to dissolve. Surely, it would be better to leave well enough alone, and accept that whatever she and Loghain had once shared, it was gone now, and best left firmly in the past.

And with that thought, Rhianna felt more alone than ever before.

Perhaps she should have stayed with Cailan. He been honest with her last night: he'd wanted sex, and nothing more. That was more honesty, perhaps, than she'd ever received from Loghain, who had promised to make her his wife and then walked away and never looked back. Except she didn't want Cailan, and never had. She didn't even like him, if truth be told.

Solona emerged from Duncan's tent, wearing a smile that lit up her entire face, a beautiful smile she probably didn't even know she was wearing.

Rhianna wasn't really jealous. How could she be anything but happy for her friend, and glad that Solona, at least, wasn't alone?

Solona linked her arm around Rhianna's. "Let's go find something to eat. And then we're going on another adventure. Duncan found out where the soldiers from Lothering are camped. They're all together, on the west side of the soldiers' camp, and should be easy enough to find. You'll come with me to look for my cousins, won't you?"

"Of course I will."

Arm in arm, they found their way to the soldiers' mess, and after they'd eaten their fill of sausages and bread and thick slices of white cheese, washed down with barley ale, the two women followed the directions Solona had been given. It didn't take long for them to find the banners with the device of Ceorlic, Bann of Lothering, fluttering in the slight breeze.

Solona approached a young woman who was sharpening her sword. "Excuse me. I'm wondering if you can tell me where I could find the Hawkes - Josefina and Carver?"

"That's them, over there. The good-looking lad, and the girl with the short hair." The pair the woman had pointed out sat together on the ground as they finished up what was probably their breakfast. There was no question these were the Hawkes; the boy, especially, had more than a passing resemblance to his twin sister, Bethany.

Rhianna began to walk in their direction, but Solona put out a hand to stop her.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"What? Why not? Leandra said they'd want to meet you."

"I know she did . . . but . . . Oh, I don't know. What if they're put off by the fact that I'm a mage?"

"Their sister Bethany is a mage." Rhianna urged Solona forward with a gentle push on her shoulder. "Come on. Let's go and meet them. And if they aren't nice to you, I'll beat them up."

This made Solona giggle. "All right."

"Excuse me?" Brother and sister looked up at Solona, who had spoken, and then over at Rhianna. "Are you Josefina and Carver Hawke?"

"Who wants to know?" The woman spoke with a jovial tone, but there was a hard edge just beneath her smile. She was striking in appearance, with dark eyes and medium brown skin and jet black hair that was cut short with a few longer strands that fell onto her forehead.

"My name is Solona. Solona Amell? I . . . well, I think we're cousins. I visited your mother and sister last week in Lothering, and they said you were already here. So, I wanted to come and . . . meet you?"

"You're our cousin? And you're a mage?" The young man – Carver - was handsome, with a straight nose and strong jaw, and skin a shade darker than Josefina's. Rhianna didn't like the way he looked at Solona, though, with his nose wrinkled slightly, as though he'd caught a whiff of something unpleasant.

"Isn't your sister a mage?" Rhianna asked.

"And who, may I ask, are you?" Josefina asked, a challenge in her voice.

Apparently the Hawke siblings didn't make new friends easily.

Solona crossed her arms in front of her chest. "This is my friend, Rhianna." The tentative lilt was gone from her voice, as though she didn't mind being challenged on her own behalf, but she wouldn't tolerate rudeness toward her friend. "We've just joined the Grey Wardens, which is why we're here at Ostagar. I thought you might want to meet me, seeing as we're cousins and all, but I guess I was wrong." She looked at Rhianna and shrugged. "Let's go. I don't intend to waste any more time on people who insist on being rude." She turned and started to walk away, but before Rhianna could follow, the sister, Jo, was on her feet, with Carver close behind.

"Wait," Jo called out. Solona stopped walking, but didn't turn back around. "Please." Jo stepped into Solona's field of vision. "Look, Solona. I'm sorry. We . . . well, when your sister's an apostate, you learn to be suspicious of strangers. You're really our cousin? But I thought you lived at the Circle Tower."

"I did, until a few weeks ago. Like I said, I've just joined the Grey Wardens."

"The Grey Wardens allow mages to join?" Carver asked. "And you don't have to live in the Circle?" He glanced at his sister. "That might be something good to know for the future."

"We were just finishing up our breakfast." Finally, warmth crept into Jo's voice. "Would you like to join us? Both of you?"

"We've already eaten," Solona replied, "but we'd love to sit and visit. If that's all right?"

"Yes." Jo's smile looked sincere. "Yes, that's more than all right."

"You saw Mother and Bethany?" Carver asked, once they'd settled themselves down on the grass. "I trust they're well?"

"They're both fine," Solona said. "They were gracious enough to allow the three of us - Rhianna and me, plus our Warden commander - to spend the night at the house, since the inn was fully booked. She said they've had a bit of trouble with vegetables disappearing from the garden, but nothing too serious."

"Carver worries about them." Jo leaned back and rested her hands behind her on the grass. "I keep trying to tell him that Mother can take care of herself. And so can Bethy, if she puts her mind to it."

"Yes, but in case you hadn't noticed, there's a war going on." Carver sounded a bit wounded. "Darkspawn, and refugees, and bandits, and who knows what else. I'll be glad when this is over, and we can get back home to them. I've heard that the king is determined that we're going to destroy the darkspawn tonight, for once and for all."

"That's what he says," Solona agreed. "I actually met him, when we arrived here two days ago. He greeted me personally, and everything. Apparently, he's rather impressed with the Grey Wardens."

"You met the king?" Carver lifted a brow.

"Only for a minute. Rhianna . . ." Solona glanced over, and her voice trailed off, as though she'd decided not to say what had been on the tip of her tongue.

Jo noticed. "What about Rhianna?"

"Oh, just that Rhianna was there, too. When I was introduced to the king."

"He has good intentions," Rhianna added, not wanting to talk about just how well she knew Cailan. "And you're right, Carver, he means for tonight's battle to be the end of this. But I fear he might be overly optimistic. Loghain is worried that there aren't enough soldiers here, if the horde has grown larger." Just speaking his name caused the ache in her belly to grow a bit more painful.

"Teyrn Loghain is best general Ferelden's ever seen," Carver said. "He'll get us through this; with the teyrn at the head of the armies, there's no way we can lose."

Rhianna merely nodded; the boy's confidence in Loghain was touching, so she kept her fears to herself.

"So." Solona turned to Jo. "I couldn't help but notice the runes on your desk. Bethany said your father taught you to carve them?"

Jo's eyes widened, but a small smile turned up one corner of her mouth. "Yes. They're Tevinter runes; I'm not very good at them, yet. I need more practice."

"They looked very good to me," Solona replied. "Of course, I don't know how to carve any myself. They don't teach that sort of thing to apprentices at the Circle, and I only recently went through my Harrowing and became a full enchanter."

"Your Harrowing?" Jo leaned closer. "I've heard of this before, but my father never wanted to talk about what happened during his own. What's it like? Did you really talk with demons in the Fade?"

"Yes. I talked to some of them, and fought others. It was . . . well, it was awful in some ways, but interesting as well."

"What are they like? The demons, I mean. Did they try to possess you? Can you actually feel them?" Jo laughed, and shook her head. "I'm sorry to ask so many questions. But, I always wonder about such things. And, like I said, my father didn't want to talk about it."

"I don't think any of them actually tried to possess me. I got the feeling they were more intent on trying to trick me. I could feel them all around, but not in any sort of intrusive way, if that makes sense. Looking back now, the one that was probably most dangerous appeared to me as mouse at first. Only later did I realize it wasn't really the spirit of a mage who had been trapped there, as it claimed, but that it was the demon I'd been sent to the Fade to best." She chuckled, softly. "And one of the others wasn't frightening at all. He told riddles."

"Riddles?" Carver's brows lifted. "What sort of demon tells riddles? I thought all they wanted to do was turn mages into abominations?"

Solona laughed. "Yes, that's true, usually. But this particular demon seemed far more interested in taking a nap. After telling the riddles, of course. Do you want to hear them, and see if you can guess the answers?"

"All right," Jo agreed.

"Okay. Let me see if I can say this exactly the way it was told to me." Solona looked up at the sky, as if the words might appear there to refresh her memory.

"'Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll amuse you an entire eve, but alas you won't remember me. What am I?'"

"Um . . . a traveling player?" Carver guessed.

"No," Solona grinned.

"What about a book," Rhianna suggested. "Books tell tales."

"Not that either."

"I know." Jo gave a satisfied smile. "You're a dream."

"Yes, that's exactly it!" Solona exclaimed. "Although the others were good guesses, as well."

"Tell us another," Carver said.

"All right. How about this one: 'I'm rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?'"

"Rarely touched," Rhianna repeated. "Often held? What can you hold without touching? Your temper, perhaps?"

"No," Solona shook her head, and looked at Jo.

Jo sighed, and shrugged her shoulders. "Temper would have been my guess as well."

"Oh, you can't just give up!" Solona lamented.

"Well, you can hold your breath, but I don't see what that has to do with wit," Carver said thoughtfully. "And you can hold someone's hand, but that involves touching . . . Oh, I give up, too."

"It's your tongue," the mage said with a laugh. "If you have wit you'll use it well."

"Of course." Carver wrinkled his nose as though angry with himself for not guessing correctly.

"I know a riddle," Jo said. "Shall I tell it?"

"Oh, yes!" Solona replied. "That way I can guess."

"All right." Jo took a deep breath. "I have a tail, and a head, but no body. What am I?"

"A snake?" Rhianna suggested.

"No."

"A worm, then," Solona said.

"Not a worm, either. Do you have a guess, Carver?"

"I've heard this one before," he chuckled, "so it wouldn't be fair for me to guess."

"Oh, that's right," she laughed. "What about you two? Surely, you have another guess."

"I think," Solona began, "I think . . . perhaps it's a coin?"

"Yes! A coin. Well done!" Jo clapped her hands together. "Do you know any others, Solona?"

"I do know one more." She chewed at her bottom lip, and then said, "'I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns with no people, mountains without land. What am I?'"

"That one's easy," Rhianna grinned. "You're a map."

"Maker! How did you guess so quickly?" Solona said.

"Towns with no people? Seas with no water? Of course it's a map. I love maps, and have collected them for years. I have some lovely ones . . . or, I did have, once." She bit her lower lip to remember all her maps were gone.

In an instant, her cheerfulness drained away.

"You  _had_  some?" Carver asked. "What happened to them?"

"I . . . I had to leave home in a hurry, just before I joined the Grey Wardens. And all my maps were left behind."

"Oh, Rhianna." Solona's face fell. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"Don't be." She smiled, both to ease any guilt Solona might be feeling - it really hadn't been her fault; she had no way of knowing the riddle would make Rhianna sad - and also so the Hawkes didn't ask any further questions. "So," she turned to Carver, "your mother said you've considered joining the Lothering Regulars. Are you more or less likely to do that now, after living a soldier's life for a while?"

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna and Solona stayed with the Hawke siblings for most of the day. Mid-afternoon, just as Carver had finished telling a joke that wasn't really very funny, but made everyone laugh anyway, because of the hesitating way he told it, a young girl ran up to them.

"Is one of you Rhianna, the Grey Warden?"

"I'm Rhianna."

The girl handed her a folded up piece of parchment. "Message for you, ser. From the Warden Commander." With that, she ran off again.

Rhianna unfolded the parchment.

" _Please meet me at the Warden tents in the king's camp as soon as possible. I would like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king, to discuss the upcoming battle. ~ Duncan_ "

"What is it?" Solona asked. "Nothing's wrong, I hope."

"No, nothing's wrong. Duncan's just asked me to return to camp."

"Oh. Do you want me to come with you?" Solona started to get up to her feet. "Perhaps it's about your brother . . . "

"No, that's all right. It's not anything about Fergus. There's some meeting he wants me to attend with him. You should stay here and visit with your family. I'll see you a bit later."

When Rhianna arrived back at the Warden camp, Duncan was waiting for her.

"We're to attend the final meeting to discuss the strategy for tonight's battle," he explained, as they walked in the direction of the old temple where the Joining ritual had taken place the night before. "The king asked specifically for you to be present."

"Cailan asked for  _me_? Do you know why?"

"No. But it's quite an honor, as I'm sure you must realize."

Rhianna wasn't sure about that, not at all. Surely, Cailan meant no harm by it, but it was difficult to see what he wanted with her. She'd been clear last night about not wanting any sort of intimacy with him, so why had he gone out of his way to invite her to this meeting now?

At the far end of a walled courtyard, a group of people stood around a large table that was entirely covered by a map. Cailan was there, along with Arl Urien Kendalls and Ser Cauthrien. A bald man in mage robes and a Chantry sister stood to one side, as well.

And of course, Loghain was there, beside the king. As Rhianna and Duncan approached, Rhianna caught Loghain's eye, and smiled.

He didn't return the smile; the only change to his expression was a slight narrowing of his eyes before he looked away without acknowledging her in any way.

An uncomfortable weight settled in her stomach as she took a place beside Duncan across the table.

It sounded as though they had walked in on something of an argument.

"Loghain, my decision is final." Cailan crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault." The king might have looked regal in his golden armor, were it not for his petulant expression.

"You risk too much, Cailan," Loghain replied. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to play hero on the front lines. It is reckless and unnecessary." He wore the armor he'd taken from the chevalier commander at River Dane. Rhianna had only seen him wear it a few times, and it made him look fierce, and intimidating.

"If that's the case," Cailan rebutted, "perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all."

Loghain's jaw tightened. "You know how I feel about your fool notion that we need help from Orlais to defend ourselves! They insist on sending chevaliers. With no guarantee of calling them back once the darkspawn have been defeated."

"It's not a 'fool notion," Cailan argued. "Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past." He lifted his chin. "And you will remember who is king."

"How fortunate," Loghain drawled, "that Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden back to those who enslaved us for a century."

Cailan seemed not to notice the sarcasm in Loghain's tone. "If you are so set against the Orlesians joining us in this battle, then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?"

"Perhaps," Rhianna suggested, "it would be better to wait until Eamon's troops from Redcliffe could arrive? I understand they could be here in a matter of days."

Everyone turned to look at her; all but Cailan and Loghain were wide-eyed, as though surprised this young Warden recruit had interrupted the conversation. But she'd been invited to be here; surely that meant her input was welcome.

Cailan certainly didn't seem to mind. "They could, that's true. But Eamon doesn't have that large of a force. Hardly enough soldiers to make a difference. If the horde really is growing as quickly as Loghain seems to think, any advantage we would gain by waiting for Eamon would be outweighed by the increased numbers of darkspawn we would face." The king's smile was wide and satisfied, as though pleased with his logic.

Rhianna found herself unable to smile in return.

"The five hundred men Eamon brings with him  _would_  be a welcome addition to our forces." Loghain glanced at Rhianna and then back at the king.

"Yes," Cailan said lightly, "but that would require waiting. Several more days, and I still don't see the point. No. We attack tonight, with the forces we have here on hand. It will be enough. It will have to be enough." He turned away from Loghain. "Duncan. Are your men ready for battle?"

The Warden commander seemed startled to be addressed so suddenly. "They are, your Majesty."

"Good. Then let's go over this plan of yours, Loghain." Calian bent over the map, and Rhianna stepped close to the table so she could see it clearly, as well. "The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines, and then . . .?"

"Once the entire horde has taken the field, you will alert the tower to light the beacon." Loghain pointed at a round symbol on the map. The Tower of Ishal, if Rhianna remembered correctly. "That will signal my men to charge from cover-"

"To flank the darkspawn," Cailan finished for him. "Yes. I remember." He stood straight again, looking at Loghain. "There's no need to sound so gloomy. It's a fine plan - one of your own creation, and you're the best strategist Ferelden has seen in five hundred years."

"I appreciate your faith in me," Loghain said dryly, "but you'll recall that this is not my original plan, nor do I think it the best one, for a variety of reasons."

Rhianna had to agree. There were several obvious flaws, although no doubt it was the best Loghain could do and keep Cailan reasonably well protected while on the front lines with the Wardens.

"Well, it sounds brilliant to me." Cailan turned to Rhianna. "You've studied military history your whole life, have you not? Since you were tiny, at your father's knee. Tell me, what do you think of our strategy?"

Duncan caught her eye, and, with his eyes narrowed, gave a subtle shake of his head. Clearly, he didn't want her to say anything that would contradict the king.

Was there something to be gained if she lied, and told the king what he wanted to hear? Or did Duncan just not want her to rock the boat in any way?

Either way, she had been raised to speak her mind, and if ever there was a time for honesty, it was now. Thousands of lives were at stake, including that of the king.

She bent over the map. "To be honest, it seems excessively risky to put yourself and all of the Wardens on the front lines." She drew a finger along the parchment, past the bridge that separated the king's camp from the Tower of Ishal, to the mountains that rose up sharply just beyond. "If the darkspawn are more numerous than anticipated, you're putting yourself in a dangerous position. The horde might overrun you long before Loghain could bring his forces around to flank. And if the horde is bigger than expected, it would likely be disastrous if he tries to attack the middle of their column. If something goes wrong, you have nowhere to retreat, not with these mountains at your back. "

She glanced at Cailan, who looked down at her unhappily. Clearly, he had not expected her to disagree with him. She smiled, hoping to take away any sting her words may have caused.

"What then," he said, "would you suggest instead?"

She ran her eyes across the map, taking in the markings that denoted the number of archers and foot soldiers and mabari, and where Loghain intended them to be positioned.

"I think a better strategy would be for only part of your forces to be here," she pointed, "on the front lines. The Grey Wardens could still draw in the darkspawn, as you suggest, but then you could put the other half of your soldiers here, to the west, in addition to Loghain's soldiers who will come from the east. That way, if there are more darkspawn than we expect, you can attack from both sides and have a chance of splitting their column, rather than risk Loghain's men beating themselves to death against it in vain." She took a breath. "You'll need to keep a path clear, so the Wardens have a way to retreat, although hopefully the darkspawn will be distracted enough by attacks from either side that they won't continue to press forward." She looked at the map again. "And keep the archers off the front lines. They should be positioned here," she pointed to elevated places at the sides, "and here. And don't treat the mabari as fodder. They should join the melee at the same time as the foot soldiers; they'll be far more effective that way." Another pause. "You could also lay down pathways of oil here," she pointed to the far end of the field past where the two armies would meet, "and here, where the bulk of the darkspawn will have to pass through. Once the horde has taken the field, archers can set the oil ablaze. It will kill some of the darkspawn, and create a barrier to slow others."

Loghain made a noise in his throat, and she glanced at him. He nodded at her, as though in agreement with her ideas.

She turned back to Cailan. "And above all else, you should be up and away from the front lines, with the archers, perhaps. You're the king; it's not right for you to put yourself at such great risk."

Urien Kendells nodded approvingly. "The girl makes some good points," he said.

"Maker's breath." Cailan turned to Loghain. "Did you put her up to this?" The teyrn's eyebrows raised in surprise, which made Cailan laugh. "No, I can see that you didn't. Even so, your strategy, Rhianna, is nearly identical to the first one Loghain devised, except for that bit about the oil. The only trouble is that it requires more soldiers than we have. And I don't intend to be tucked away somewhere safe. As you said, I'm the king. Which means I have more responsibility than anyone to be out there, alongside the rest of my men. I can't expect them to fight in my name if I'm not willing to be out there among them, can I?"

"Actually," Rhianna replied, "you can expect  _exactly_  that. The people of Ferelden love you. Just think what it will do them if something happens to you. If you're harmed. Or worse. It will throw Ferelden into chaos, and we can't afford that, especially not during the middle of a blight."

Rhianna glanced at Loghain; he was staring at her with a slight frown on his face, but she no longer sensed the coldness she had caught from him upon her arrival.

"Ah, but you're making the same mistake as Loghain," Cailan replied. "You forget that I'll be at the side of the Grey Wardens. You know, the legendary warriors who are experts at defeating darkspawn?" He shook his head. "We're going to go ahead with Loghain's plan. It will work. I know it will. The Blight ends here."

Rhianna moved away from the table, annoyed. Clearly he had no intention of considering her opinion. Why had he even bothered to ask?

Cailan, too, straightened up and stepped back from the table. "So, it appears we need someone to light this beacon, don't we?"

For the first time, the mage spoke. He was an older man with a shaved head and a rather severe profile. "Your Majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi-"

"We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage!" the woman in Chantry robes spat vehemently. "Save them for the darkspawn, if you must!"

"Don't be a fool, woman." The mage turned on her. "We can send whatever signal the teyrn wants, from a distance. Just because your mind is too small to contemplate the magnitude of what magic can do doesn't mean that the army should be denied our skills!"

The Chantry sister - an older woman with greying hair and a pinched expression - drew in a breath, as though she meant to argue again, but Loghain spoke first.

"I have a few men stationed at the Tower of Ishal. It will be a simple matter for one of them to watch for the signal, and light the beacon when the time is right. It's not a dangerous task, but it is vital."

Rhianna leaned over the map again, and took a close look at the tower, imprinting the layout into her memory.

"I agree," Cailan said. "It is vital. That's why we shall send our best. Rhianna?" She looked up, startled, and he smiled. "I want you to light this beacon, to make sure it's done properly. You and your fellow Warden, Alistair."

Rhianna's jaw dropped at the insult Cailan had just paid his general, with the suggestion that Loghain's own men wouldn't do the task, "properly." Was it deliberate, or just a lack of consideration?

Either way, Loghain noticed. "You rely on these Grey Wardens too much, Cailan." He glanced at Rhianna, and the coldness had returned to his eyes. "Is that truly wise? Beyond these newest recruits, are any of the Wardens here in our camp even from Ferelden? How can you be so certain they can be trusted?"

Cailan stood straighter, and his eyes flashed. "I've had enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain. Grey Wardens battle the Blight no matter where they're from."

"And your fascination with glory and legend will be your undoing," Loghain insisted. "It is time for you to attend to reality."

"Your Majesty," Duncan interjected, "you should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing."

Loghain frowned. "There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds. Nothing at all to indicate that this archdemon of yours is guiding the horde."

Maker's balls. Rhianna wanted to shout with frustration. Didn't Loghain want the king to be cautious? Why not just agree that the archdemon posed an additional threat? But no, it seemed everyone was angry now, and determined not to cooperate with one another.

"The archdemon's appearance would be something to see, no doubt." Cailan sounded almost wistful. "It's been four hundred years since the last time one appeared on the surface. But Loghain is right, we've seen no sign of one. And besides, if the archdemon does appear, isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?"

"I . . . " Duncan's shoulders sagged, slightly. "Yes, your Majesty."

He sounded defeated, and Rhianna felt that way herself. This wasn't a story out of a fairy tale, where the golden-haired prince was destined to succeed. Why couldn't Cailan understand that he needed to be away from the front lines, and that the darkspawn posed a serious threat?

"Enough." Loghain spoke firmly. "This plan will have to suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon. And there is enough oil on hand to implement that part of the strategy Lady Cousland suggested."

Not Rhianna, but "Lady Cousland?" Her stomach churned at the coldness in his voice, and the formality of those words.

"Thank you, Loghain." Cailan stood taller. "Just think of it! The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil! A battle the bards will sing of for centuries to come. And every one of us will be there to witness this glorious moment!"

Loghain turned away from the table. "Yes, Cailan," he muttered. "A glorious moment for us all."

Cailan bent over the map again and ran his fingers across its lines, as Rhianna had so often done with her own maps. But seeing the king do it now, it seemed foolish, like something only a very young child would do. Or perhaps it was just that Cailan seemed so very young.

Clearly, the meeting had come to its end, and the participants prepared to go their separate ways. The Chantry sister stormed off first, followed by the mage. Arl Kendells approached Duncan and asked him a question about the Wardens, and Cailan's eyes lit up as he listened to Duncan's response.

When Loghain strode away from the table, Rhianna went after him, without even thinking about it first. She was curious about the looks he had given her, and perhaps it wasn't too late for them to at least . . . talk.

She caught up with him just as he reached the ramp that led into the king's camp.

"Loghain!"

He stopped, and turned to face her, with no sign of a smile, or any warmth at all, on his face.

Her stomach churned again. Why did he seem so angry? Was it anger at Cailan and this battle plan, or was he angry with something Rhianna had done? Loghain had never looked at her like that before. Never. Not even when he had thought she deliberately ruined Anora's wedding. She felt small, and more than a bit scared.

"Is everything all right?" She forced herself not to pant from the exertion of chasing after him.

"Is everything all right?" His tone was harsh and sarcastic. "What sort of a question is that? We go into battle tonight. This isn't exactly a cheerful moment for any of us. Except, perhaps, the king."

"No, I don't mean that. It's just . . ."

He stared at her, and crossed his arms in front of his chest impatiently, as though he would rather be anywhere else right now, doing anything other than listening to her.

"I had hoped we could talk," she said. "Just for a few minutes."

"Talk? About what?"

"About . . . well, about . . . us." Her lower lip trembled, and his frown deepened.

Clearly, this had been a bad idea.

"Us?" He arched a brow almost impossibly high. "There is no 'us,' Rhianna. There hasn't been for quite a while now. And I have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge whatever thoughts you feel like sharing with me."

He turned and strode down the ramp in the direction of the soldiers' camp.

Rhianna struggled to take one breath after the other as she watched him walk away, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. She felt as though he had plunged a dagger directly into her heart.

" _There is no 'us'?"_

Never had he spoken to her like that before, with such coldness in his voice, his eyes glittery and hard. He hadn't seemed merely angry; it was almost as if he hated her.

But why? What had she done? Just yesterday, he'd sat beside her at the campfire, and asked about her brother, and squeezed her hand. He'd asked her to sing, and she had, and she could have sworn there was warmth in his eyes, a warmth that reminded her of the time they were together.

So what on earth had she done to make him so angry? Was it that she'd joined the Grey Wardens? Or was it something else? Perhaps he'd felt this way for some time, and had managed to hide it until just now, when he was overworked and overtired and anxious about the upcoming battle.

Regardless of why he had said it, it hurt, and every painful feeling she'd had during the past year came rushing back. The loss of her parents, her brother, Highever, Gauvain. Her freedom was gone, now that she was a Warden. And now, not only was any hope she had for a life with Loghain completely crushed, but it appeared as though none of it was ever really possible in the first place.

She'd been stupid and blind and ridiculous, the entire time, throwing herself at him. She'd believed she meant something to him, but that wasn't true. Clearly, all the things they'd shared meant nothing to him now. If, indeed, they had ever meant something to him in the first place. Perhaps what she'd heard Oriana whisper once to Fergus when she thought Rhianna couldn't hear was right: Loghain had just wanted to lay with her, and had said whatever he needed to say in order to get her to spread her legs. And apparently, what she had to offer was so . . . unworthy that he had not wanted her, not even once more.

And now, it seemed he didn't even have any fondness left her.

She forced back a sob.

She had been wrong about everything. Dreadfully, stupidly wrong.

"Rhianna?" Duncan put his hand on her arm, and she gasped; she hadn't heard him come up behind her. "Are you all right?"

She forced herself to breathe slowly as she blinked back the tears that caused her vision to waver before her. "I'm fine," she lied. "We . . . we should go tell Alistair about the beacon, yes?"

Before Duncan could ask any more questions, Rhianna began to walk in the direction of the Wardens' camp.

They found Alistair, Solona and Daveth all waiting at the large fire in the center of the king's camp.

"It looks as though everyone is preparing for battle," Alistair said. "The king has decided that we face the darkspawn tonight?"

"Yes," Duncan confirmed. "We've just come from meeting with the king. He will stand with the Wardens on the front lines, to draw the darkspawn in so Teyrn Loghain's men can flank. Alistair, you and Rhianna will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure that a beacon is lit to signal Teyrn Loghain."

"What?" Alistair asked. "I won't be in the battle?"

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair, and it is a crucial mission. If the beacon is not lit, the teyrn's men won't know when to charge."

"So he needs two Grey Wardens up there, holding the torch? Just in case, right?"

"We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn," Duncan replied. "Exciting or no."

"Of course. And I'm sure this has nothing whatsoever to do with . . ." Alistair's voice trailed off. He sighed. "Oh, all right. I get it, I get it. Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

"I think I'd like to see that, actually," Solona said with a giggle.

"Well . . ." Alistair gave her a mischievous look. "For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress. You might be surprised by just how fetching I look in a dress."

Daveth laughed out loud. "Do I even want to hear any more of this?"

Duncan sighed, audibly. Rhianna didn't speak; she was still shake and bereft after the brief conversation she'd had with Loghain.

"From the top of the tower," Duncan said, "you'll overlook the entire valley. We'll light a signal fire on the field when it is time for you to alert Teyrn Loghain. The battle is about to begin, so you need to get to the top of the tower quickly. We might be ready for you to light the beacon in as little as an hour from now."

"What about me and Daveth?" Solona asked.

"You'll come with me, and the other Wardens. We'll fight alongside the king."

"What about after we've lit the beacon?" Alistair asked. "Can Rhianna and I join the battle afterwards?"

"I want you to stay with the teyrn's men and guard the tower. If you are needed, we will send word."

Alistair opened his mouth, as if to complain, but Duncan continued, "Now, if there are no other questions, the two of you should make your way to the tower."

"What if the archdemon does appear?" Rhianna asked.

"We'll soil our drawers, that's what," Alistair quipped.

Duncan arched a brow at him, and then turned back to Rhianna. "If the archdemon appears, leave it to us. I want no heroics from either of you. Now, go. I must join the others, so from here, you two are on your own. You are both Grey Wardens, and I expect you to be worthy of that title." He paused. "I trust you both to do whatever is needed."

"Sure, you trust us." Alistair frowned. "Just not enough to actually fight with the rest of you."

"There will be plenty of battles, Alistair," Duncan chuckled. "Be patient. Come, Solona, Daveth, let's go join the others."

"Duncan," Alistair called after them, the petulance gone from his voice. "May the Maker watch over you."

Duncan nodded. "May He watch over us all."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, and AmandaKitswell, and also to all my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, Irish_Changeling, Kenedii, RedLaceWings, Riptide, and Nymra.
> 
> And a special thank you to Defira, for allowing me to borrow her gorgeous Josefina Hawke, who appeared in this chapter.


	16. The life of one man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Ostagar

_**2 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _ _**Ostagar** _

‹›‹O›‹›

The king's camp was eerily quiet as Rhianna and Alistair made their way to the bridge, with Dane at their heels. All of the soldiers, the mages and templars, even the Chantry sisters, had gone to join King Cailan on the battlefield. It was profoundly strange and uncomfortable to move through the empty camp that looked as though all its inhabitants had simply vanished, leaving their possessions behind.

Of course, in a way, that was exactly what they had done. Only time would tell who among them would still be alive at the end of the night to return and reclaim their belongings.

In contrast to the quiet of the camp, when Rhianna and Alistair arrived at the bridge that spanned the gorge, it was alive with activity. Archers stood at the ready, and soldiers were poised to operate three ballistae that were armed with heavy bolts. Scouts ran back and forth, and people hurried to get into position before Cailan gave the order to attack.

Rhianna moved to the edge of the bridge. Below, the king's army waited: foot soldiers at the rear, then more archers, and mabari hounds and their keepers at the front. The Circle mages and their templars were spread out along the sides, and Rhianna could make out Cailan's banner right in the middle of things, and surrounding him, a small sea of blue and grey tunics: the Grey Wardens.

A thin white mist hung low to the ground on the field that stretched out in front of them, and from the forest in the distance, a dim glow grew steadily brighter. Did the darkspawn approach with torches in hand?

A light rain had begun to fall, and a flash of lightning split the night and illuminated the field below. As Rhianna flinched from the ear-splitting crack of thunder that followed, she saw that the glow in the forest wasn't the approach of darkspawn army.

They were already here.

Darkspawn had moved out of the forest and begun to advance across the darkened valley. They carried no torches; the glow she could see must be the forest itself on fire in their wake.

A trickle of fear ran down Rhianna's spine. The size of the horde was beyond anything she could have imagined. There were hundreds and hundreds of darkspawn on the field. Already they seemed to outnumber the human armies, and even more darkspawn emerged from the forest, moving slowly but steadily closer as she watched.

Maker. Hopefully the fire wouldn't hinder Loghain's charge when the time came, and all the animals who made their home in the forest would be able to safely flee.

Another flash of lightning blazed across the sky.

As if in response to some silent signal, the darkspawn stopped moving forward, just out of range of the king's archers.

A hush fell across the valley. Rhianna held her breath, unable to take her eyes off the scene below: the king's soldiers, their weapons drawn; Chantry sisters with pots of incense walking through the ranks; the horde backlit by the sinister orange glow of the forest.

Then, another flash of lightning, and the horde burst into motion. As they surged forward, their battle cries created a wall of sound that echoed throughout the valley.

For a full minute, the darkspawn charged, as the king's army remained motionless and waited. Waited for the king's signal.

The sky lit up, and thunder roared, and finally, the king gave the archers leave to loose their arrows. Hundreds of arrows - their tips lit on fire - arced up into the air, and then down into the vanguard of the horde. A ripple went through that front line as dozens and dozens of darkspawn fell, only to be trampled or leapt over by more of the creatures behind them. A conflagration spread across the center of the field, where pathways of oil had been lit ablaze by the archers. Screams could be heard as hundreds of the creatures went up in flames.

Almost immediately though, more darkspawn had charged past from behind and trampled out the flames, and the horde continued to advance as if the fires had never happened.

The hounds were released next, and several dozen mabari raced at full speed toward the darkspawn, clashing with the front line. Again, the line faltered, but Rhianna watched in horror as the darkspawn slaughtered the hounds.

Blessed Andraste. What chance did they have? Any of them? The horde seemed barely damaged, and even now, more darkspawn erupted from the trees, and continued to charge.

They drew closer and closer, and finally, over the clanking of metal and the pounding of booted feet, over shouts and grunts and roars, and yet another boom of thunder, a familiar voice rose above the din:

"For Ferelden!"

The king's army sprang into action, and closed the gap between the two forces. With a clash of steel upon steel, the front lines came together, and the battle was met.

A fiery projectile flew through the night, from somewhere down on the field. With a deafening crash, it struck a small tower on the far side of the bridge, and the top of the tower exploded into rubble and flame.

Maker's breath, the darkspawn had trebuchets?

Someone pushed past Rhianna, nearly knocking her off of her feet.

"Come on." She tugged at Alistair's arm. "We need to get across the bridge before their trebuchets take it out."

"All right," he agreed. "It may not be the most glamorous job, but we'd best not dawdle."

As they ran, the archers along the right side of the bridge continued to fire arrows into the horde. Rhianna was thrown backwards when a huge chunk of the bridge crumbled into the gorge, a casualty of trebuchet fire from below. Alistair helped Rhianna back onto her feet, and they hurried to cross the bridge before another missile was fired.

Once they'd reached the other side, Alistair stopped, and looked down at the field. "The signal fire hasn't yet been lit. Let's get to the top of the tower, as quickly as we can."

As they ran up the gentle slope that led to the tower, they were hailed by a pair of men in Gwaren livery.

"You! You're Grey Wardens, aren't you?" one of them shouted over the din of battle. "The tower . . . it's been taken!"

"What are you talking about?" Alistair asked, incredulous. "Taken? How?"

"Darkspawn," the man shouted. "They came up through the lower chambers! They're . . . they're everywhere, and most of our men are dead!"

"Then we'll have to fight our way through," Alistair replied. "We have to light that beacon as soon as the king gives the signal. How many floors are there?"

"Four, going up," the man replied. That matched Rhianna's memory of the map she'd looked at just a few hours earlier.

Four floors.

Maker. If they were all filled with darkspawn, this would take more time than they had to spare. They needed to get to the top, and quickly.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

In the valley on the other side of the Tower of Ishal, Loghain waited with half of Maric's Shield and the bulk of the Gwaren Regulars. Although he should have been exhausted – from lack of sleep, as well as the frustrations of the past few days – his mind was sharp and clear from the anticipation of the battle ahead. It was a familiar feeling, although one he'd not experienced in many years. It was somewhat surreal after so many years of a peaceful life at court, but his body and mind had settled back into the old habits of war as though no time had passed. He found it surprisingly easy to push aside everything else, and focus on the charge he would lead just a few minutes from now.

Although the battlefield was not visible from where he stood, he could see an orange glow in the distance; no doubt, the forest had been set on fire by the darkspawn. There didn't yet appear to be any danger of Loghain's forces being cut off from the rest of the army, but it was something to keep an eye on. Some time ago – at least half an hour - they had heard the initial charge: the shouts of innumerable darkspawn as they rushed down at the king and his army.

"Shouldn't we have had a signal by now?" Cauthrien's question echoed his own thoughts.

He was grateful, as always, for her presence at his side. He trusted Cauthrien with his life, and knew she would follow his commands without hesitation. There were rumors about the two of them; some of the soldiers suspected that Loghain and Cauthrien were lovers, but nothing was further from the truth. To be honest, he found the thought disturbing. Not because he didn't find her attractive; she was a beautiful woman, as well as courageous and steadfast. But she was like a daughter to him, and had been since the day she had charged down a dirt road in the Bannorn, intent on saving him from the bandits that had attacked as he traveled back to Denerim.

Only fourteen at the time, she'd been small for her age, but she was ferocious, leaping on one of the bandits and slitting his throat almost before the man knew what was happening. After the battle, when he'd asked her name, and thanked her for saving his life, he couldn't help but notice that she was skin and bones. A few questions revealed that she was the second oldest in a family of eight children, and since her father had died, her mother had difficulty keeping enough food on the table, despite her best efforts.

When Loghain offered the girl a chance to come with him, and join the Gwaren Regulars - a steady job with an income that would allow her to send money to her family on a regular basis - she had jumped at the chance.

Over the years, they had become increasingly close as he watched her grow into a soldier of unparalleled skill and discipline. Strangely enough, as their professional relationship deepened, Loghain had shied away from revealing too many of his personal thoughts to the young woman. Probably out of a ridiculous sense of false vanity. He wanted her to continue to see him in a good light. If she knew everything - all the thoughts in his head, as well as the things he had done - he feared she would lose not her respect, but her affection for him, something he very much did not want to have happen. This meant that Cauthrien was a friend, but would never be a close a friend. Not, perhaps, as close as he might have wanted.

Not as close as Rhianna had been, to whom he'd managed to reveal so many things.

Look where that had led.

Yes, it was a good trade-off. Perhaps there was some distance between him and Cauthrien, but at least she was still at his side.

"I would have expected the signal by now," Loghain agreed, "but if the horde is larger than expected, darkspawn may still be coming out of the forest. Hopefully the scout I sent will be back with some word soon."

Cauthrien frowned. "We are less than two thousand here, plus six thousand with the king. If we are truly outnumbered . . .?"

Loghain didn't answer; he knew the question had been rhetorical. If they were truly outnumbered, this went from a fairly simple battle that they were likely to win, to . . . something else entirely. He tried to calculate in his head how many darkspawn were likely on the field based on the amount of time that had passed. Duncan had said suggested the horde numbered ten thousand, but tonight it seemed as though that were an underestimate.

A young girl in leathers approached at a run, and came to a stop in front of him. The scout.

"What did you find?" he asked.

"Darkspawn, Your Grace," she panted, breathing heavily from exertion. "A lot of them, and the king's armies are doing battle. It was impossible for me to tell how they might be faring, though. There's too many darkspawn, and a great deal of smoke over the field due to all of the fires."

"Did you see the end of the horde?" Cauthrien asked.

"No, ser. There are still more darkspawn coming out of the forest."

Damn. That explained the lack of the signal, but it was anything but good news.

"Thank you." He dismissed the scout with a nod of his head.

"What do we do?" Cauthrien asked.

"We wait, for the entirety of the horde to enter the valley. We wait for the signal."

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

The Tower of Ishal had stood since the time of the Tevinter Imperium, although it was said to be of dwarven make. Once upon a time, it had been used to watch for Wilders coming out of the forest; surely, no one could have imagined the place overrun with darkspawn as it was tonight.

As Rhianna led the way into the tower, she and Alistair and a pair of Gwaren guards emerged into a large round hall that had been barricaded with wooden stakes, and the barricade set ablaze. Had all this been put here by the guards to keep out darkspawn? Or put here by darkspawn to keep out the king's men?

Probably the latter; it appeared the darkspawn had been here long enough to construct another "sculpture" of giant bones and leather, just like the ones Rhianna had seen in the Korcari Wilds. Did it have some sort of significance? Perhaps it was an idol that represented the archdemon; no doubt he was the closest thing the darkspawn would have to a god.

Rhianna disarmed a trap set near the entrance, and the Wardens and guards battled half a dozen darkspawn, managing to kill them without much trouble. So long as they weren't using magic, the hurlocks and genlocks were almost laughably easy to kill.

They proceeded into a hallway that circled the tower. Remembering the layout she'd glimpsed at the meeting earlier in the day, Rhianna turned to the right, and ran through the door at the end. Here, they were brought to a halt by the sight of an enormous hole in the floor, which stretched down into blackness. Judging by the condition of the stones along the edge, it looked like a recent excavation: the damaged floor had chalky, sharp edges, as though the stones had only recently been broken.

"Maker's breath," Alistair swore. "What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance!"

"They broke through the floor here," one of the guards replied, "and took us by surprise."

Rhianna turned to Alistair. "Weren't you complaining you wouldn't get to fight?" Perhaps a bit of humor would chase back the fear that shivered along her spine. "It seems you'll get your wish after all."

"Hey! You're right." Alistair grinned. "I guess I can try and think of that as the silver lining."

In the next room, a staircase led up to the second floor, and they emerged into another round chamber. The floor here was littered with corpses: darkspawn and soldiers both, but unfortunately a higher percentage of soldiers. Human heads decorated the top of spiked poles that were erected along the sides of the room, reminiscent of the way they'd found the Highever scouting patrol in the Wilds.

Not wanting to be distracted by thoughts of her brother, Rhianna ran into the adjoining room. There, at least a dozen darkspawn waited, and for the next several minutes, she had no time to think about anything at all as she let her body take over. Her sword and dagger moved almost effortlessly wherever she needed them to go, and the darkspawn fell before her.

Sweating and stained with blood - some of it hers, from cuts and scratches she'd sustained, but most of it belonging to the darkspawn she'd killed - they finally dispatched the last of them. Alistair hurried to one of the windows that overlooked the valley below.

"Damn it!" he swore. "The signal fire on the field has been lit. The king needs Loghain to charge! We've got to get upstairs and light that beacon. Now!"

Rhianna turned to the guards. "There are still two floors above this one?"

"Yes, ser."

"Then I'll go ahead." She turned to Alistair. "Fighting our way through all of them is too slow. I'm quick, and I can sneak or run past them, and get the beacon lit long before we could all make it up there together, at the rate we've been going."

"Absolutely not!" Alistair looked horrified by the suggestion." If you go up there alone, they'll all follow you. Even if you make it to the top, you'll be trapped with no way out! They'll kill you."

"That doesn't matter," Rhianna insisted. "There are thousands of soldiers on the field whose lives depend on this beacon being lit. That's what matters. What happens to me afterwards is of no consequence."

"No," Alistair said firmly. "I won't let you do it. I'm the senior Warden here, which means I'm in charge. And I say we stay together." He paused. "Besides, what if they manage to kill you before you light the beacon? We need you here, so we have the very best chance of getting through together. If we split up, and none of us make it to the top, then where will the king be? And Duncan?"

She was tempted to ignore him, and run off on her own . . . but what if Alistair was right? Perhaps if they split up, none of them would make it to the top.

"All right," she agreed. "But we have to hurry!"

They all took off at a dead run through the hall that circled the outer edge of the tower, stopping only to fight groups of darkspawn they encountered along the way.

On the third floor, they found yet more carnage.

Maker's breath. There was blood everywhere, and dismembered bodies, and more of those bone structures that made Rhianna increasingly uncomfortable. Here, a woman lay on the floor with a sword protruding from her chest. Across the room, a pool of blood and body parts cooled on the stone; it was impossible to tell just how many people they had once been. Elsewhere, body parts were arranged in a way that might have seemed artistic if it had been constructed from any other medium. If she had to guess, she'd say at least three dozen of Loghain's men had been murdered here in this tower.

Finally, they found something that made Rhianna smile. Dodging arrows, Rhianna sprinted across the room to pull the level that released half a dozen mabari hounds from their kennels. Soon, the sounds of their barking and snarling and jaws snapping through bones filled the air.

From the kennel, the companions emerged into a hallway, and Rhianna ran past all of the doors that opened to the side, and went straight for the final door at the other end of the hall. That's where they would find the last staircase going up.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Another hour had passed, and still no signal. Loghain could feel his soldiers becoming restless, a feeling he himself shared. The glow of the fire raging unchecked in the forest had moved closer, but still posed no imminent threat. But the lack of a signal fire was deeply disturbing. It meant one of two things: either the horde was massively larger than they had anticipated, or the Grey Wardens had, for some reason, failed to light the beacon.

He glanced at the tower, but still it was dark. He shifted his weight, and felt something poke at the bottom of his foot: a pebble that had worked its way into his boot. He wriggled his foot around until the sharp edge no longer poked at his flesh.

If the horde had not fully emerged from the forest, the king and his armies were doomed. Loghain and his two thousand men could not fight their way through a horde that must number a great many more than ten thousand. As Rhianna had mentioned, and as Loghain himself had pointed out to the king time and time again, those armies had their backs up against the face of a mountain, with nowhere to retreat. They would be slaughtered. They might already be dead.

If it was a matter of the beacon not being lit, however, there were numerous possibilities to explain that failure. Darkspawn could have prevented Rhianna from getting to the top. That seemed unlikely, though, as Loghain's own men had secured the building for the past several days. But what if Rhianna's mission had been prevented by someone else? Despite the king's unwavering trust in them, Loghain was not at all certain the Grey Wardens had Ferelden's best interests at heart.

What if the Wardens saw this as a chance to stage a coup? If the King of Ferelden died on the battlefield today, without having produced an heir, a political void would be created, one that would be difficult to fill. The Grey Wardens could easily blame the darkspawn, and no one would be the wiser. And then, who would step forward? Maric's bastard, perhaps, who had oh-so-conveniently been recruited by the Wardens. Could they put a Warden king on the throne? The Grey Wardens made a lot of noise about "neutrality," but from what Loghain had seen, they ruled the Anderfels entirely, and were involved with Orlais in ways that were hardly impartial.

Of course, Ferelden had a fit ruler already, even if Cailan weren't to survive. Anora had proven herself more than capable over the past five years, but there was a contingent in the Landsmeet who would balk at the granddaughter of farmers and carpenters leading Ferelden on her own. Arl Eamon, and the other conservatives would insist on noble blood. If this bastard of Maric's were to resurface, no doubt there are some who would support him, whether or not he had any aptitude for governance.

But was it the Grey Wardens, or someone else who stood to benefit from an arrangement like this? Loghain didn't know the lad, but from what he had heard, Eamon had raised him in such as way as to make him an ideal puppet. And it was funny, wasn't it, that the lad ended up in the household of the one nobleman in Ferelden with an Orlesian wife. This could easily be a ploy on the part of Empress Celene to grab the throne, with the help of her trusted Orlesian Wardens.

Or perhaps Celene had a less elegant solution in mind. Rather putting some puppet king upon the throne, she could simply invade while Ferelden has its hands busy with darkspawn. Four legions of chevaliers waiting at the border to "accompany" the Orlesian Wardens definitely supported this particular theory.

Chevaliers would never be allowed into Ferelden. Not while Loghain still had breath in his body to stop them. So if that was Celene's plan, all the Grey Warden treachery in the world would not cause it to succeed.

Which brought him back to Rhianna, who might well be caught up in all this. Against her will, perhaps, but caught up in it nonetheless. If only there had been something he could have done to save her from this. Save her from the Grey Wardens. In spite of the anger he'd felt at her earlier, the thought that something truly bad might have happened to her made him feel physically ill.

She might already be dead. The girl he'd known for so many years would never have agreed to betray Ferelden or murder the king, so if that was what the Wardens intended, she herself might have been murdered once she refused to go along with their plans.

Not that any of this mattered now. All that mattered was figuring out what was happening on that damned battlefield. And whether or not Cailan was still alive, and if Loghain had any reasonable chance of saving him.

He glanced up at the tower, and then at Cauthrien. She wanted to charge. He could see it in her eyes, even though she dared not speak the words and risk that anyone might hear her question the word of her commander.

To be honest, he wanted to charge, as well. His instinct told him that if they didn't attack soon, the opportunity would pass.

But if the horde really had continued to stream onto the field for the past hour and a half, it was far too large for Loghain's forces to make a dent. And if Cailan was already dead, Loghain could not in good conscience throw the lives of his own soldiers away in an attempt to salvage a battle that had already been lost.

And if the Grey Wardens had betrayed the king, that, too, would lead to disaster for Loghain's men if he took the field.

Even so, he wanted to charge. As angry as he had been lately at Cailan, as much frustration and heartache and rage as the lad had caused, that didn't change the fact that he was the King of Ferelden. More than that, he was the husband of Loghain's daughter. He was Maric's son. Rowan's son. That Cailan might die here tonight . . . the thought was almost unbearable.

But Loghain could not send his armies in just to save the life of one man, especially if that effort might prove futile, and cost the lives of two thousand others who didn't have to die. Not only would it be the wrong thing to do strategically, but it would also mean breaking a promise.

A promise he had made to Maric a very long time ago.

The Battle of West Hill had been a disaster for the Rebellion. Maric had been led to believe that the fortress was ill-guarded, so they'd sailed from Gwaren, intending to take over the stronghold and deal a severe blow to Meghren and his forces.

What they didn't know was that the woman who gave Maric this information - a woman he loved, and trusted - was an Orlesian spy. When they arrived it soon became clear they had walked into a trap. The Orlesians were waiting for them, and they lost more men than Loghain could bear to think about even now, including Arl Guerrin, Rowan's father. Not only were the Orlesians ready for them, but they knew exactly where to find Maric, who - unlike his reckless son - had agreed to do the sensible thing and stay "safely" away from the front lines. But the Orlesians had gone right for him, and Maric had almost died, and if Loghain and Rowan hadn't come to his rescue, the Theirin line would have ended violently that day.

Perhaps Loghain was rewriting history in his head, just a bit. Perhaps it wasn't clear at the time that they had been set up, but it seemed now that the whole thing could have been avoided, had Maric listened to his head more than . . . other things.

Afterwards, when Maric learned the truth of what had happened - that Rowan and Loghain had abandoned the army to come and find him - he had been livid. Loghain could still remember his words, as clearly as if they had been spoken yesterday.

" _Why did you come after me_?" he had raged. " _Why_?"

" _Don't be an idiot_ ," Loghain had retorted. " _You're the last of the royal blood_."

" _No,"_ Maric insisted. " _I don't want to hear that anymore. This isn't about putting the blood of Calenhad on the throne. This is about getting that Orlesian bastard_  off  _it._ "

Maric said he wished  _he_  had died, rather than have the blood of the all the men who had fought and died for him on his conscience. He had made Rowan and Loghain both promise that if it ever came to that again, they would never again choose Maric's life over the lives of the men for whom he was responsible. That the life of one man - not even the king - was not more important than the lives of a thousand soldiers.

Maric had insisted, and Loghain had finally agreed. " _Next time,"_  he had sworn, " _I don't come to your rescue. You're on your own_."

And this still held true. The life of one man, not even the king - not even Maric's son, not even  _Rowan's_  son - was not more important than the lives of the thousands of soldiers Loghain would risk in some ill-conceived rescue attempt.

He sent another scout, to see if anything could be learned about the situation on the field.

He glanced again, for the fifth time in the past minute, at the Tower of Ishal. Every time, he imagined a flame glowing from the top of the tower, and every time he was disappointed to realize this was nothing more than wishful thinking.

Every time he looked and didn't see the flame, it grew less and less likely he ever would.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

They climbed the last set of steps and passed through a door into a small circular room: the final floor of the tower. A bonfire lit the center of the room, and across the tower, a pile of wood and kindling sat in its niche: the beacon, ready to be lit. But as Rhianna moved in that direction, the sight in front of her caused her to skid to a halt.

A hulking shape moved near the bonfire. Over the crackling of the fire, there was a crunching sound, as if of bones breaking. The huge thing - whatever it was - turned to face them, and straightened itself to its full height.

It was enormous - easily twice as tall as Alistair - with greyish blue skin and huge, curving horns atop its head. It wore little armor aside from a pauldron on just one shoulder, and a vambrace on each arm, one with wicked spikes pointing outward and the other with half-moon shaped blades. A human skull dangled from the belt at its waist, and it wore a pair of massive boots. Its only other clothing was a small loincloth, and tassets that covered its hips, so its bulging, muscular legs were plainly on view.

"Maker's breath," Alistair swore. "That's an ogre. I've never actually seen one before. It's . . . it's monstrous."

The creature opened its mouth and roared, and huge flecks of saliva and blood sprayed past a set of formidably pointed teeth, including canines that were easily two inches long. It dropped what it held in its massive hands: a dead body on which it had been feasting.

Maker's balls. How could they fight a creature like this? It looked as though it could pick any of them up and break them in half as easily as a child could snap a man made of gingerbread.

"You!" she shouted to the guards. "Stay well away from it and keep firing arrows." To Alistair, "You and Dane keep it busy long enough for me to get around behind."

Alistair nodded, and as the ogre began to advance, Rhianna and her companions fanned out to combat the beast. The ogre prepared to charge, and Rhianna drew her weapons and darted out of the way with Dane at her heels; hopefully, the beast would ignore her until she got into position to stab it in the back. The guards moved away as she had asked, and, sure enough, the ogre fixed its gaze upon Alistair.

Her stomach churned. Could the five of them actually kill this creature? It was literally the most terrifying thing she had ever seen - worse than the werewolves, worse than the poachers who threatened to rape her. Far worse than the archdemon she'd seen in her dreams.

With another bloodcurdling roar, the ogre advanced on Alistair, each footstep shaking the stone beneath their feet. The Warden stood his ground, looking ridiculously small, sword and shield in hand.

When the creature came close enough, Alistair gave a war cry and attacked, slashing at the exposed flesh of its legs. Apparently, he had success, as the ogre roared again, and this time it sounded like the beast was in pain. The ogre took a swing with one of its enormous arms, but Alistair ducked out of the way. Dane rushed in and sank his teeth into the exposed flesh on the backside of the ogre's knee, and again the creature roared in outrage. One arrow hit the ogre's shoulder, and another pierced the muscle in the center of the beast's chest.

Rhianna took advantage of the activity to move around behind. She slashed with her sword and stabbed with her dagger, where she hoped the creature's kidney would be, assuming its anatomy resembled that of humans.

When Rhianna pulled her dagger out of the dark flesh, the creature spun around, and knocked her backwards with one of its arms. She flew through the air, and landed on her back and slid away across the floor. Alistair and Dane both attacked while the creature was turned, and once again an angry roar split the air.

Rhianna lay on the floor long enough to assess the damage; the front of her body felt bruised, but she didn't think anything had been broken. So, she pushed herself onto her feet, and ran back into the fray.

She slashed at the creature, and darted back out of the way, to avoid another backhanded swipe. This time when it moved toward her it didn't turn around first. Instead it kept its focus on Alistair, and backed away from him slowly: one step, then another, then a third. Then, it lowered its head, and, before Rhianna could shout out a warning to her companion, the ogre charged, like a ram battling for dominance.

Alistair couldn't get out of the way in time, and was knocked backwards. Before the ogre recovered from its charge, Rhianna stabbed her dagger into its flesh. Dark blood spurted from the wound as she withdrew, and the creature raised both of its fists into the air, and bellowed, a sound filled with outrage and pain. In spite of the obvious ire, though, the ogre sounded nowhere near exhaustion or defeat, in spite of the multiple attacks they had made.

Dane rushed in and chewed at one of the creature's ankles. It lifted its leg and kicked, sending Dane flying backwards through the air. Terrified that Dane might be badly injured, but afraid to take the time to look, Rhianna went in for another attack. She slashed furiously at the back of the creature's legs, desperate to do enough damage to bring it down. Again it swept backwards with one of its arms, but she darted out of the way. The creature now bled freely from numerous wounds, but still it moved nearly as quickly as before.

Alistair charged, striking first with his shield, and then following up with his sword. He open a huge gash across the creature's chest, and the ogre turned its attention to Alistair. It took a step forward, causing the floor to shake as it brought its full weight onto a gigantic booted foot. Then, it reached forward with one hand, grabbed Alistair around the waist, and hefted him into the air.

Alistair shouted in panic as his legs dangled uselessly. He tried to strike at the creature with his sword, but was unable to land a solid blow. The creature brought its free hand up, and Rhianna feared it meant to punch at Alistair, dealing a blow the man would surely not be able to survive.

But it did not strike out. Instead, it gave a triumphant roar, and Rhianna took the opportunity to charge it from behind. If she could anger it enough, perhaps it would release its hold on Alistair. When the point of her sword sank into the creature's upper thigh, it roared in pain, but didn't release the warrior it held aloft.

"Damn you!" She stabbed again with her sword. "Let  _go_  of him!" The creature merely batted her away with its free hand, and again Rhianna flew across the room. She landed on her rear, and watched in horror as the ogre threw back its head and roared, and then shook Alistair, just once. The man's head snapped back and then forward again. Then, the ogre tossed Alistair aside, exactly like a broken doll.

Alistair lay on the ground, motionless, his eyes closed.

"All right, you bastard," Rhianna shouted at the top of her lungs as she turned to face the ogre for what she decided would be the last time. "It is time to end this!"

The ogre turned its head to look at her, as if recognizing the challenge in her voice. It answered by throwing its head back, and bellowing loudly.

Dane darted in to bite down on the back of the creature's leg, and then moved out of harm's way again.

Rhianna crouched low, her sword in one hand and her dagger in the other. With all the strength in her legs, she took two running steps and leapt into the air, aiming herself directly at the ogre. Before it could react, Rhianna twisted her wrist and drove her sword straight into the ogre's chest, while she brought her feet together as hard as she could into its belly.

The creature stumbled, taking one awkward step before losing its balance and falling backwards onto the floor. Rhianna landed atop the thing, and leaned forward to drive her dagger as deeply as she could into the side of its neck. Then, she released the handle, and left the dagger in place as the ogre's arms flailed at its side. Lifting herself enough to kneel directly on the creature's chest, she raised her sword in both hands. With one powerful stroke, she drove the point into the ogre's throat, and then used the weight of her body to pull the sword to the right. It tore through flesh and tendon and bone, and sprayed blood in a wide arc across the room.

After one last, violent shudder, the ogre fell still.

Rhianna hopped down to the floor, and rushed to Alistair's side. He was still breathing, thank the Maker.

"A poultice! Someone bring me a poultice. He needs healing!"

In a flash, one of the guards was at her side, digging through his pack for supplies.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

"Commander?"

Loghain saw Cauthrien's thoughts reflected clearly in her eyes.

It was too late. Two hours had passed, and still the beacon had not been lit. The fires that blazed through the forest had moved closer; in another few minutes they would be cut off from the field. The last scout he'd sent had never returned, and there were still sounds from the battlefield, echoing faintly off of the forest and the hills, through the smoke-filled air.

Clearly, the horde had been far greater than they anticipated. Or the king had been betrayed by the Grey Wardens.

Perhaps both.

Either way, Cailan was surely dead by now, and even if he wasn't, there was no way for Loghain to save him. For Loghain to charge now would only accomplish the death of nearly two thousand of Loghain's own soldiers. Soldiers who would be needed to defend Ferelden against whatever came next.

Loghain didn't answer Cauthrien's unspoken question; he merely shook his head. They both knew it was time for him to sound the retreat, before the fires cut off their escape route. Really, he should have ordered it half an hour back, but something had stopped him, every time the words had come to his lips.

He knew why he was unable to speak the words: he needed to see the beacon lit. Needed to know there was a chance that Rhianna was still alive. It was foolish for him wait, especially for such a reason, but something writhed painfully in his belly at the thought she might be dead, killed by darkspawn or murdered by her fellow Wardens.

So he waited, and watched. Whether the beacon was lit now or not, they wouldn't charge. It was far too late for that. He would not lead his men onto the field to what would certainly be their deaths.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

While the guards tended Alistair's wounds, Rhianna got back to her feet. She went first to the bonfire, and grabbed a stick of wood that was ablaze at one end. Then, she hurried to the hearth at the side of the tower and tossed the lit branch onto the pile of wood.

For the space of a breath, the flame seemed to hesitate. Then the wood caught fire. In just a few seconds, it formed a bright blaze that would surely be seen all across the valley.

_Please, Andraste. Don't let it be too late._

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Cauthrien's hand grabbed at Loghain's arm at exactly the same moment he saw it. A light, at the top of the tower.

Just a dim glow at first, but it grew quickly into a small blaze, yellow and orange and white hot at the center. Then it burst up from the top of the tower, and its flames stretched thirty feet into the sky, as if daring the rain to try and quench them.

The beacon. At last.

He turned to his lieutenant. "Sound the retreat."

Cauthrien turned to him, a look of confusion upon her face. "But . . . what about the king? Should we not-?"

He grabbed her wrist, and forced back a dozen conflicting emotions: anger, the tension of two hours of waiting, the relief that Rhianna Cousland might still be alive. And a certainly that Cailan was already beyond his reach, was probably already dead. At the hands of the darkspawn or the Grey Wardens, it hardly mattered which.

"Do as I command," he hissed.

She lifted her chin, and pulled her away, with an expression that indicated she was offended by the mere suggestion that she would be unwilling to do as he had asked. She turned, and strode the few meters to the column of soldiers that had been standing for hours, waiting.

"Pull out!" she shouted, circling her arm in the air overhead, and then pointing away from the ruined city. "All of you. Let's move!"

As a single organism, they turned to the north and slightly west to avoid the forest fires, and began to march steadily away from the field. Tonight, they would go far enough to be safe from any darkspawn that might have separated themselves from the horde, and then the army would make camp. These men needed a rest. Even though they'd not gone into combat, there was mental stress that would wear on them.

After that? In the morning, Loghain would send scouts to see what exactly had happened. And then, they would continue on to Lothering, and from there to Denerim. The darkspawn had not been defeated, and if the king really was dead along with three-quarters of the army, Loghain would need to move quickly to stem what might otherwise become a nation-wide crisis.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Alistair got shakily to his feet, and came to stand beside Rhianna, as she stared at the flames that lit the night sky around them for miles and miles.

"It's lit," he said with a satisfied sigh. "We did it."

A rush of air went past Rhianna, and an arrow fell harmlessly to the floor after striking the far wall. She whirled around to see three hurlocks and a genlock coming up the stairs. Before she could draw her weapon, an arrow pierced her left shoulder, and another punched through her armor into her abdomen.

She cried out in pain as she was knocked backwards onto the floor. When she lifted her head, all she could see was darkspawn approaching, and then everything went black.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Amanda Kitswell, Psyche Sinclair, and Sehnsuchttraum, and to all my fabulous reviewers: DarkspawnHorror, KatDancer,Irish_Changeling, and Riptide.
> 
> This chapter contains dialogue from "The Stolen Throne" by David Gaider.


	17. The task that lies ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna awakens to find herself in the Korcari Wilds.

__**4 August, 9:30 Dragon**  
 _**Korcari Wilds** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna's eyes fluttered open.

Where . . . where was she?

She pushed her hair back from her forehead, and blinked in the soft light as she sat up in the bed. When she glanced around, she didn't recognize her surroundings: a slightly untidy room with animal pelts hung on the walls, a desk overflowing with books, and a fire blazing along the far wall. The air smelled faintly of herbs and the bed was comfortable and warm, although she was dismayed to discover she was completely naked, and pulled the sheet up to cover herself.

Nothing she saw gave her any clue about where she was, or how she had gotten here.

What was the last thing she remembered? The king's army had faced the darkspawn. She and Alistair watched the initial charge from up on the bridge, and the forest had been on fire, and then the tower . . . there were darkspawn in the tower, and she and Alistair had fought their way to the top. They had lit the beacon, hadn't they?

Yes, she remembered throwing a lit branch upon the pile of wood. Then more darkspawn came . . .

How in the world had she gotten down from the top of the tower?

"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased." The voice had a familiar cadence, and Rhianna looked to see who had spoken. A young woman sat in a chair in the shadows at the far end of the room.

"I remember you." Rhianna rubbed at one of her eyes. "You're the girl from the Wilds. Morrigan?"

"Yes, I am Morrigan." She stood, and crossed the room. "And yes, we are in the Wilds, where I have spent the past three days bandaging your wounds."

"The Wilds? But how on earth did I get here?"

"Do you not remember? You were injured, and then Mother rescued you."

"Your mother?" The somewhat decrepit grey-haired woman they had met when they came here before? She hadn't looked capable of rescuing anyone.

Rhianna closed her eyes and tried to find her last memory of that night. "I remember climbing the tower. It was overrun by darkspawn even though there weren't supposed to be any of them there. We fought something huge, and . . . terrifying, and I lit the signal fire. But then there were more darkspawn and . . . no, I don't remember your mother being there at all. Just Alistair and Dane, and the two Gwaren soldiers who helped us fight. What of them? Are they all right?"

"I cannot say anything about the soldiers; most likely they are dead. But Alistair? Your suspicious, dim-witted friend?" A gentle frown played across her lips. "He is fine. Mother managed to save him, as well, though 'twas a close call. He is outside by the fire."

"And what of Dane? My mabari?"

"If you mean the obnoxious, slobbering hound who showed up yesterday, determined to eat us out of house and home? Then yes. He is here, and he appears unharmed."

"Thank the Maker." For the first time, a smile crossed Rhianna's face. "He's being obnoxious? He's usually very well behaved, and is quite friendly. Has he been misbehaving?"

"Misbehaving? I would not say that, exactly. If anything, his friendliness is part of the problem. I do not mind animals; I am simply not accustomed to being drooled on by them in such excess."

"He must like you, then," Rhianna laughed. "He only drools when he's happy, and he does get overexcited at times." She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. She was pleased and somewhat surprised to discover that nothing hurt. All her wounds seemed to be healed, and only a tiny round scar remained, just below her collarbone where she'd been pierced by an arrow.

"What of the battle?" she asked. "Did the king's armies defeat the darkspawn?"

"Oh. That." Morrigan paused, and a crease formed along her forehead. "I . . . well, the man who was to respond to your signal . . . quit the field, and those he abandoned were massacred. I am afraid the darkspawn won your battle."

The smile that had lingered on Rhianna's face faded away.

"What? Loghain didn't charge?" She shook her head. "Alistair and I must have been too late lighting the beacon. But what of the rest of Grey Wardens, and the king?"

Morrigan hesitated. "All dead."

"No." Oh, Blessed Andraste, no. That couldn't be. It just wasn't possible. "All of them? Are you certain there weren't any survivors?"

"It is possible a few stragglers were able to escape, but they are long gone by now, and to my knowledge, the king and your Wardens were not among them." Morrigan paused. "You would not want to see what happened in that valley. What is happening still."

"What do you mean? Were you there? You've seen it?"

"I had a good view of the battlefield," Morrigan said carefully.

"Tell me."

"Are you sure you want me to describe it? 'Twas a grisly scene."

"Yes. I want to hear. I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Very well," Morrigan shrugged. "I believe there were far more darkspawn than your generals expected, and the king and his army were simply overwhelmed. When this Teyrn Loghain did not arrive with his troops as expected, that sealed their fate, and the king's army were slaughtered up against the mountain with nowhere to retreat." She paused. "Now, there are bodies everywhere, and darkspawn swarm them. Feeding, I think, on the dead. Any survivors they find, the darkspawn drag down beneath the ground. I cannot say why."

Rhianna felt sick to her stomach, and had to struggle to take a breath. Cailan was dead? The entire army, all dead? Solona? Daveth? Duncan, and all the other Wardens? And what of Catrin and her friends, and the others who followed the camp? Would any of them have gotten away? Thousands of men and women, all just . . . gone?

Especially Solona.

Rhianna sobbed once, and put a hand to her mouth as she tried to keep from breaking down into tears.

And if the king's army had been destroyed, there was nothing to stop the darkspawn from invading the north, from coming into Ferelden and destroying everything in their wake.

Why hadn't Loghain charged? They had been late lighting the beacon, but surely something could have been salvaged of the army. Or perhaps not, and now Loghain's troops were the only thing that stood between the darkspawn and the rest of Ferelden.

Blessed Andraste. This was far worse than anything she could have imagined.

An image came unbidden into her mind: Solona, lifeless on the battlefield, her eyes open as they stared up at nothing. Her body being torn apart and eaten by those creatures . . .

Rhianna sobbed again, and rubbed at her eyes to force the image from her mind. No. No! It was too horrible to think about.

She blinked up at Morrigan. "What about the horde? Are we safe here?"

"For the moment, yes," Morrigan replied. "Mother's magic keeps the darkspawn away, and the horde seems to have moved on to the north. Once you leave, 'tis uncertain what will happen. If you take care, you might be able to avoid it, get to somewhere safer."

"Safer? How can any place be safe now?"

Morrigan didn't answer; both women knew the question had been rhetorical.

"Your friend," Morrigan said, "is not taking it well. He has been inconsolable since Mother told him the news, and his mood veers between denial and grief." She paused. "I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish?"

"I don't know Alistair very well, but it seemed he was close to the other Wardens. Especially Duncan. And for all of them to be dead?" She knew this sort of grief, intimately. "Yes, that would be unkind. Everyone grieves in their own way." She paused. "Although I'm not sure how much time any of us will have for grieving now, not until the darkspawn are stopped."

But with the king's army gone, how would that happen?

Rhianna shook her head, wanting to clear it of those horrible thoughts. "You said you bandaged my wounds?"

Morrigan arched a brow. "Yes."

"Thank you. Thank you, Morrigan, for helping me. For helping both of us. I know Alistair might not have made the best impression on you the first time we met, but I appreciate everything you and your mother have done for us."

"I . . ." Her brow creased, as though she were not accustomed to such praise. "I thank you. Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer." She paused. "My mother asked to speak to you as soon as you awoke." Her tone was softer than before. "And I am certain your friend will be glad to see that you are recovered."

"Of course. I'll get dressed and go speak with them right away."

"Yes, that would be best. You will find your things in the chest at the foot of the bed." She turned toward the fire. "And I will stay here, and make something to eat."

The wooden floor was cool beneath Rhianna's feet as she slipped out of the bed, and retrieved her clothing from the chest Morrigan had indicated.

All those people, dead.

She pulled on the linen shirt she wore beneath her armor.

Solona.

Rhianna's chest ached at the memory of her friend's ready smile, and bright eyes. Her  _friend_. Even though they'd only know one another a short time, they truly had become friends. Now, Solona was dead, her young life cut short.

It wasn't fair. Rhianna breathed through the tears that welled up in her eyes. It wasn't  _fair_ ; Solona had just managed to get free of the Circle, and found a new life with the Grey Wardens, and with Duncan, and now they were both dead? Along with Daveth, who had been so cheerful and friendly and funny? A tear crept down Rhianna's cheek. 

She pulled on her cuirass, and tried to still the trembling of her fingers enough that she could fasten the buckles that held her armor in place.

And Cailan. How on earth could Cailan be dead? Just a few days ago he'd stood across the table from her, his eyes wounded when she hadn't agreed with the battle plan. Even though the plan had been flawed, he'd been so sure of himself that somewhere deep inside, she'd truly believed everything would be all right. He was the king – Maric's golden son, with his charming smile and his infectious laugh. Even when he was thoughtless and foolish it was difficult to dislike him, because he never meant to cause harm. How could anything bad have happened to him?

Rhianna strapped on her cuisses, and tassets, and then sat on the bed to pull on her boots.

She remembered the feel of his fingers on her skin, how he had held her in his arms, and kissed her. The taste of his mouth, his warmth – he'd always been so warm. He'd smelled of soap and mint, and his lips and his hands were hungry, but still gentle. He'd never been rough with her, not even once, and now he was dead. Lips that had kissed hers, hands that had held her own as they'd stood at the top of that cliff near Highever, eyes so clear and blue as they had searched her face. And now he was  _dead_ , his body rotting away, the life gone from his eyes if they hadn't already been taken by crows. His heart stilled in his body, his lungs empty of breath.

She'd known Cailan her entire life, and now he was just gone. She might have married him, and now he was . . . gone.

Gone, like her parents. And Oren, and Oriana, and Nan.

Another tear escaped her eye, and then another.

Solona, and Daveth, and Duncan. They were all gone.

She sobbed into her hands. Maker. So many people dead. Just a few weeks ago, everything had been . . . fine, and now, suddenly, so many people were gone, and bad things just kept happening. Every time she thought she had adjusted to this new reality, things shifted again. Just when she thought there was nothing left that could be taken from her, something else was stripped away. Just when she thought she had nothing left to lose, it turned out she was wrong.

She gasped for breath as her shoulders heaved, and hot tears clung to her lashes.

Perhaps  _this_  was as bad as things could get. Surely, nothing worse than this could ever happen.

‹›‹O›‹›

When Rhianna stepped out of the hut into the misty mid-day light, Dane ran at her, nearly knocking her over as he wagged his stump of a tail furiously and lunged up to lick her face. She dropped to her knees, and hugged him tightly, and they reminded one another how glad they were to both be safe and alive.

She got back to her feet and, with Dane at her side, walked toward Alistair and Morrigan's mother, who stood together and looked out over the swamp.

The woman turned at Rhianna's approach. "See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

Alistair whirled around. "You . . . you're . . . you're alive!" His voice was ragged, and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but a broad smile burst across his face. "Thank the Maker. I thought you were dead for sure."

"No, I'm not dead. Thanks to Morrigan and her mother." Rhianna gave the old woman a grateful smile.

"This doesn't seem real." Alistair shook his head. "None of it. I can hardly believe they're all dead. That," there was a hitch in his voice, "Duncan is . . . dead. Along with the rest of the Grey Wardens. Even the king. All dead." He paused. "And if it weren't for Flemeth, we'd be dead too, on top of that tower."

Flemeth? That was the woman's name? Rhianna looked over and studied her face.

There were legends about a woman called Flemeth, legends from a very long time ago. A woman from Highever who'd been married to the bann until she had fallen in love with a bard, and . . .

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry," he sputtered. "I meant no disrespect."

Had this woman been named after Flemeth of legend? That was an odd choice; Flemeth was said to have been an evil sorceress, and an abomination who had murdered dozens of people.

"Evil?" Flemeth said with a gleam in her eye. "Aren't 'evil' and 'necessary' merely a matter of perspective?"

Rhianna blinked. Had she muttered her thoughts aloud? Or had this woman somehow plucked them from her mind, as she had seemed to pluck the thoughts about Fergus last time they visited this hut.

"Oh, don't mind me," Flemeth laughed. "I'm nothing more than an old woman who lives in the Wilds."

That statement was certainly not true. Not the whole truth, anyway. But Rhianna didn't intend to press the issue, not after all this woman had done for them.

"Thank you . . . Flemeth," Rhianna said. "For saving us. And for healing my wounds. Morrigan said you were the one responsible for that, as well."

"Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we?" she replied. "Someone has to deal with these darkspawn."

Alistair turned to her. "Then why didn't you save Duncan? He's-" Alistair's breath caught in his chest. "He  _was_  our leader. He was the one who could have dealt with the darkspawn. Not Rhianna and I, not by ourselves."

"I did what I could. What I thought best." She arched a brow. "Or would you have preferred to be left on the top of that tower?"

"No," he replied. "Of course not. I didn't mean it like that. I am grateful. I am. It's just . . . I don't know what to do now. Without him."

"Just do what you would have done were he still here," Flemeth said calmly. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight." She paused. "Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"No, of course not," Alistair admitted. "But there are only the two of us now. In all of Ferelden. What in the world are we supposed to do all by ourselves?"

"I suppose we should try to contact the rest of the Grey Wardens in other parts of Thedas," Rhianna suggested. "Unless you know how to perform the Joining ritual?"

"No, I don't know how." Alistair shrugged. "All I know is it involves lyrium, and is difficult to prepare."

"Then we'll need Wardens from outside Ferelden," Rhianna said. "Duncan expected two hundred of them from Orlais, and I know he'd contacted Wardens in at least a few other places. With any luck, some of them are already on their way. Perhaps we should head to Denerim; if Wardens come by ship that's probably where they'll land. And surely, there are people we can contact, to let them know what happened, and that we need some support."

"I don't know anything about Grey Wardens in other places," Alistair replied. "The only place I know for sure we could send word is Weisshaupt Fortress in the Anderfels, and that's thousands of miles away. Even if we manage to send a message out, there's no guarantee help will arrive in time."

"Then we'll have to make do with the two hundred Wardens from Orlais who are already on their way here," Rhianna said.

"Assuming they're allowed to help us." Alistair frowned. "I expect Loghain has already taken steps to stop them. Duncan told me that the teyrn was never happy about Wardens and chevaliers from Orlais entering Ferelden."

"Of course he's not happy about it. Ferelden has a lot of unpleasant history with Orlais, and Loghain has his reasons - good reasons - for not trusting the Grey Wardens. But I'm sure he can be made to see that this Blight cannot be stopped without their - without  _our_  - assistance." She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Of course, chevaliers are another story. Loghain will never agree to them crossing the border, and rightly so. Perhaps," she turned to Alistair, "instead of Denerim, you and I should go to Gherlen's Pass. Meet the Wardens when they arrive at the border, and insist they leave the chevaliers behind."

"Leave the chevaliers behind?" Alistair's face twisted into a sneer. "Are you as crazy as he is? We'll need soldiers to fight the darkspawn, especially now that the king's armies are . . . gone."

Rhianna regarded him steadily. "I'm not crazy, and neither is Loghain. We need soldiers, but we do  _not_  need chevaliers. Duncan as much as admitted to me that they had no intention of leaving after the darkspawn were defeated, and that he – and the other Grey Wardens – didn't particularly care. But I do care. We can't risk Orlais using the Blight as an opportunity to invade Ferelden again, especially now, when we've been weakened by our own efforts to fight the darkspawn. We'll find Fereldans to fight, or ask for help from an ally we can trust not to take advantage of the situation - the Free Marches, or Nevarra, perhaps."

Alistair crossed his arms in front of his chest. "The Grey Wardens - that's you and I, now - have a duty to fight the darkspawn, by whatever means necessary. If that means letting chevaliers into Ferelden, then so be it. It's clear to me that, whatever Loghain's insanity, he obviously thinks the darkspawn are a minor threat. We've got to make it absolutely clear to everyone that this is not the case."

"Loghain knows the darkspawn are a threat," Rhianna insisted. "He's fought them before. He's just not convinced this is a true blight. Neither was Cailan, for that matter; he just  _wanted_  it to be. But I promise you, Loghain wants to stop the darkspawn from destroying Ferelden as much as anyone." She paused. "Perhaps the very first thing we should do is try and catch up with him and what's left of the army. Convince him that this truly is a blight, and find a way to work together to stop it."

Assuming he would be willing to speak to her at all. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably at the memory of the way he'd spoken to her just before the battle, so cold and harsh. Surely, though, even if he were angry about something she'd done, he'd listen to what she had to say about the darkspawn.

"No matter what," she added, "Loghain will do whatever is best for Ferelden."

"Whatever is best for Ferelden?" Alistair's sneer returned. "The man just betrayed his own king! I think it's safe to say that Teyrn Loghain is not doing whatever is best for Ferelden."

"Betrayed the king?" Rhianna blinked. "What are you talking about? What makes you think Loghain betrayed anyone?"

"Are you joking? We were fighting the darkspawn, and the king had nearly defeated them. You lit the beacon, and Teyrn Loghain didn't charge!"

"What? The king  _hadn't_  nearly defeated the darkspawn, no matter how fond he was of saying it. You know that much is true - Duncan and the other Wardens had reservations all along about whether or not the Blight could be stopped that night, same as Loghain did. And Loghain must have had good reasons for not taking the field. There was no betrayal. From what Morrigan said, there were a great many more darkspawn than anyone had anticipated And we were delayed in lighting the beacon. By the time we got to the top of the tower, it might already have been too late."

"But we  _lit_  the beacon! Teyrn Loghain was supposed to charge!" Alistair's voice was high pitched, and strained. "The king was counting on it, but Loghain didn't charge. And now Duncan is dead. Along with the king, and all our fellow Wardens, and thousands of other people."

"But if Loghain  _had_  charged, all his men might be dead now too, leaving no one at all to defend Ferelden."

"We'll never know about that, will we?" Alistair snapped, and shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose Teyrn Loghain is after the throne. He's the queen's father, and has probably always wanted to be king."

Rhianna laughed. "Loghain doesn't want the throne."

"And how would you know?" Alistair retorted "All I know is that Arl Eamon never trusted the man, and that's good enough for me."

Anger and annoyance began to bubble up in her chest. "Listen to me, Alistair. I've known Loghain my entire life. He was a regular visitor in my home, and for a while we were . . . well, we were friends for years. I promise you, I know him as well as I've ever known anyone, and Loghain Mac Tir does not want to be king."

"Then what does he want?" Alistair threw his hands in the air. "What else could he have hoped to gain by killing the king?"

"Now  _that_  is a good question," Flemeth mused. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver, as he's always done in the past, and worries that other threats might prove more dangerous. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind the Blight is the true threat."

"The archdemon," Rhianna said.

"Yes," Flemeth agreed.

"That's why we need Arl Eamon," Alistair insisted. "He wasn't at Ostagar. He still has all his men. And I know him. He was King Cailan's uncle. There's no way he'll stand for what happened. For what Teyrn Loghain did: abandoning the king and leaving him to die."

"Alistair, Loghain didn't-"

Alistair ignored her. "The arl is a good man." His voice grew louder with excitement. "And he's respected in the Landsmeet. We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help."

Go to Redcliffe?

Eamon Guerrin was just about the last person Rhianna wanted to go to for help. She didn't trust the man at all, not after learning about the part he'd played in the wreck that had been made of her life the previous year.

Why was Alistair so adamant that Eamon be the one they turn to, anyway?

Before she could ask, Alistair added, "But I have no idea if Arl Eamon's help would be enough. He can't defeat the darkspawn horde by himself, and neither can we. No Grey Warden has ever defeated a blight, or killed an archdemon, without the armies of a half-dozen nations at his back. Not to mention . . . I . . . well, I don't know how."

"How to kill the archdemon," Flemeth asked, "or how to raise an army? Those are two different questions, are they not? Have the Wardens no other allies these days?" Flemeth looked at Rhianna with a raised brow. "You have more at your disposal than you think. I seem to recall some scrolls, which I went to no small amount of trouble to preserve. Didn't they belong to the Grey Wardens?"

"Of course! The treaties!" A smile burst across Alistair's face. "I looked at them over the past few days, several times in fact. The dwarves of Orzammar, the Circle of Magi, and the Dalish elves are all obligated to help during a blight."

"I may be old and senile," Flemeth said, "but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else . . . this sounds like an army to me."

"Can we do this?" Alistair looked at Rhianna. "Use the treaties and . . . build an army?"

Build an army.

Those three little words sounded so simple when Alistair said them, but there would be nothing simple whatsoever about actually doing it. But what other choice did they have?

"I suppose so," she answered. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to stand against a blight. And right now, you and I are the Grey Wardens."

That itself was an almost overwhelming thought. How was it possible Alistair and Rhianna were the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden? There were hundreds and hundreds in Orlais, and thousands across Thedas, according to Duncan. And now, there were but two here, both of them new recruits, where a blight had begun and they were needed more than ever before.

Build an army?

It sounded impossible, but they had to try.

There was, however, one thing she intended to do first, before leaving the Wilds.

"That is simply not possible," Flemeth murmured.

Rhianna's eyes darted to the old woman's face. Rhianna had not spoken aloud; this time, she was certain of it.

Maker's blood. Flemeth really could read minds. Rhianna's mind, anyway.

"Of course it's possible. I need to find Fergus."

Flemeth frowned, a thoughtful rather than angry expression. "I did as I said I would last time you were here, and I have kept my ears open for news of your brother."

"And was there news?"

Oh, Maker. What if he was dead, and no one had yet told her?

"He's not dead. I believe he is with the Chasind, far to the south of here, although whether he is there as their guest, or their prisoner, I do not know." She held Rhianna's gaze. "Either way, he is beyond your reach now. The Wilds are overrun with darkspawn, girl.  _Thousands_  of darkspawn crawling the very places you would need to travel, and even if you could get through, what then? Winter is coming, and any day now, the Wilds will be covered in snow and ice. Any attempt to find your brother would only result in your certain death. And you have other matters to attend to now. You are a Grey Warden. Doesn't that duty come first?"

With an unexpected stab of anger, Rhianna turned, walked to the south edge of the clearing, and stared out over the swamp. Duty? She dared to question Rhianna's sense of duty?

In some ways, Flemeth was right. Trying to go after Fergus now, with so many darkspawn about, was a fool's errand.

But the thought of just walking away made her miserable. What if he was injured? What if he was being held prisoner? The Chasind weren't known for being kind to people from the north. What if he needed her help, and would die without it?

Of course, it was possible he was already dead, regardless of what Flemeth said.

No. He couldn't be dead. He  _couldn't_. Rhianna couldn't bear the thought of being completely alone in the world. But would Fergus be grateful for his own survival when he learned what had happened to the rest of his family? Would he even want to go on living once he knew his wife and son, his parents, were dead? Perhaps they were all together even now, in some afterlife Rhianna could only imagine.

Still, she hoped and prayed he was alive. Even if it was selfish of her, she wanted to find him. Needed to find him. Needed to hear his beloved voice, feel herself cradled in his arms, arms that had comforted her as long as she could remember. Her brother, who she loved so very, very much. 

_Andraste, please be with him, wherever he is._

Flemeth spoke of duty, but surely, her duty was to her family before anything else. She'd never agreed to join the Grey Wardens; it had been forced upon her. Even so . . . she was a Grey Warden now, one of only two in the whole nation, and nothing she could do would change that, not with the taint that ran through her blood. If she could save all of Ferelden, was that not more important than the life of just one person, no matter how much she loved him?

A tear crept down her cheek, and she didn't bother to wipe it away.

What was she supposed to do? And how was she supposed to decide what to do? How would she know what was right, what was best? Did she go after her brother? Travel to Denerim to find Loghain, or to Gherlen's Pass to try and find the Wardens? Nothing that had happened in her life up to this point had prepared her for any of this. Except for fighting. That she could do. Send the darkspawn at her, and she'd kill them. But she knew nothing about raising an army . . .

"You know far more than you give yourself credit for, girl." Rhianna started to hear Flemeth's voice in her ear; she hadn't heard the old woman approach. "You're the daughter of a teyrn. You might never have expected any of this, but you are resourceful and clever and persuasive. Most important, you are still alive." She paused. "If you do not do this - if you do not gather an army to defeat this blight, no one else will." Flemeth put a hand on Rhianna's shoulders, and Rhianna turned and looked into the older woman's face.

Flemeth leaned close. "No one else is coming, girl. No one will ride in and stop this from happening. If you do not succeed, Ferelden will fall. Destroyed for all eternity beneath the darkspawn's taint. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not. Ferelden means . . . everything to me."

Flemeth crossed her arms in front of her chest, and tilted her head. "Hmnh. You remind me of him. Not quite as angry, but then again you haven't yet lived the life of an outlaw as he had."

"I remind you of someone? An outlaw? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" the old woman chuckled. "Never you mind. It's not important. Not at this particular moment, anyway." Flemeth looked out over the swamp. "I believe your brother is still alive. But you must trust me when I say it is not possible for you to find him. Not yet. I know how much this means to you." The woman's voice was surprisingly gentle, more gentle than Rhianna had heard it before.

Rhianna turned to look into Flemeth's strange amber eyes. "I can't just abandon him."

"You haven't abandoned him, girl. Running off into darkspawn infested woods and being killed long before you had any hope of finding him - that would be abandonment. If you wish to do this brother of yours a service, then stay alive. And I will do what I can, just as I promised before."

Rhianna's uncertainty must have shown in her face, because Flemeth added, "Do you really think that you, a stranger in these Wilds, are better equipped to find him than I am? I, who have lived here more years than either of us would like to consider?"

"No." Rhianna's felt the fight go out of her. "I don't think that."

"Good girl." Flemeth leaned close again. "Hear me: if he lives, I will find him. You must simply be patient, and in the meantime, do the things your destiny demands of you."

"Destiny? Is that what this is?"

"Do you have a better name for it?" She arched a browd. "I trust you haven't forgotten the promise you made to me?"

"I haven't forgotten."

"Good. Because I am more certain than ever that being owed a boon by you will someday be very valuable. I swear to you, I will do all in my power to find your brother. In the meantime, you must go and do what needs to be done." The old woman glanced at Alistair. "You know as well as I do that your companion does not have the strength to do this by himself."

Rhianna released a ragged breath. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

Together, she and Flemeth returned to where Alistair stood, hands on his hips, and his brow deeply furrowed. He didn't ask what they talked about, though.

"Now, before you go," Flemeth began, "there is yet one more thing I can offer you."

Morrigan emerged from the hut, and crossed the yard to where they stood. "The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the eve, or none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl," Flemeth said. "And you will join them."

"Such a shame-" Morrigan's head snapped to face her mother. "What?" Clearly she had not expected this.

Flemeth laughed, her shoulders shaking with the effort. "You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!"

"Wait, what?" Alistair frowned. "What makes you think we want to take her along with us?"

"Pardon me." Flemeth raised her chin and managed to look down at Alistair in spite of his superior height. "I had the impression you two needed assistance, whatever the form. Morrigan's magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde. Oh, my Morrigan is as cunning as a root lizard. Have no doubt that she will be of use to you. At least let her guide you out of the Wilds. If you do not desire her help after that, simply tell her so."

Morrigan crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Am I to have no say in this?"

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance."

"Mother, this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready-"

"You must be ready," Flemeth barked. "Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight." Flemeth stared into her daughter's face. "Even I."

Morrigan returned her gaze defiantly as she took one breath, and then another. Finally, her shoulders sagged and she sighed quietly. "I . . . understand."

"And you, Wardens?" Flemeth turned to look first at Alistair, and then at Rhianna. "Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you  _must_  succeed."

"Yes." Rhianna nodded. "I do understand." Flemeth's eyes narrowed, but a slight smile appeared on her lips.

Alistair, however, turned to Rhianna. "I just . . . do you really want to take her along because her mother says so? Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower," Flemeth snapped; she seemed to be losing patience with Alistair. Rhianna didn't really blame her.

"Point . . . taken," he said slowly. "And I suppose we do need all the help we can get. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them."

"I am so pleased to have your approval," Morrigan purred. "And if you worry that I will summon demons and transform into an abomination, I assure you I will at least wait until you are not looking."

"Thank you." Alistair's frown returned. "I feel better already."

"I suppose," Rhianna began, to head off further argument, "the next thing to do is decide where we are going. The darkspawn are here in the south, but we don't have any resources for dealing with them yet. So, we could follow after Loghain, or we could go to Gherlen's Pass and meet up with the Wardens from Orlais."

"Well," Alistair began, "I still think Arl Eamon is our best bet for dealing with Loghain. We might even want to go to Redcliffe first."

"We don't need anyone's help to 'deal' with Loghain," Rhianna insisted. "All we need to do is sit down and talk with him, explain to him why Grey Wardens are needed." She didn't add that she had no intention of going to Eamon Guerrin if there was anywhere else to turn first. "And, of course, we've got the treaties to pursue.

"Regardless of any of that," Morrigan interjected, "our first priority is to get out of the Wilds." She pursed her lips, and looked from Alistair to Rhianna, and back to Alistair again. "And the question is how we are going to get you past the darkspawn, is it not?"

"That's true," Alistair admitted. Turning to Rhianna, he explained, "We can sense the darkspawn, which comes in handy when we're trying to hunt them. Conversely, they can sense us. Which will make sneaking past somewhat trickier."

"What do you mean? I don't sense any darkspawn." The thought that she should be able to was somewhat alarming.

"You won't right away. It takes time," Alistair explained. "And it only works at relatively close distances, so we should be able to sneak past smaller groups. But larger groups, or particularly intelligent darkspawn will always detect us."

Wonderful. Apparently, things could still get worse. Just one more reason why it wasn't possible for her to go looking for Fergus. It seemed that soon, her own body would betray her to the darkspawn. Where was the silver lining of having become a Grey Warden? So far, it seemed as though her life had been changed forever, and in no way that was good.

"Mother has give me something else for them to 'smell' as we pass by," Morrigan said. "But 'tis important we head out of the Wilds, not farther in. And the sooner we get going, the better. I have a feeling the darkspawn numbers are only going to continue to increase. That does seem to be the pattern of late. In any case, I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. Would you like to hear my advice? Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."

"I prefer you speak your mind," Rhianna said. "If you are to travel with us, you do so as an equal." Alistair tensed up beside her, but thankfully remained silent.

"Ha ha!" Flemeth laughed heartily. "You will regret saying that, I have no doubt!"

Morrigan shot her mother an annoyed glare and turned back to Rhianna. "In that case, I suggest Lothering, a village north of the Wilds, as our first destination. 'Tis not far and you will find much you need there."

"I've been to Lothering," Rhianna said. "We came through there on our way to Ostagar. I agree it's a good first stop. In addition to supplies, we can keep our ears open for news. Something we learn there might help us decide which avenue we want to pursue first."

"All right, then to Lothering it is," Morrigan said. "Allow me to get my things, if you please, and we can be off."

A very few minutes later, Morrigan returned with a small pack on her shoulders. She hadn't had very many things at all, it seemed.

Not that Rhianna had more. At this point, Rhianna had nothing but her armor and weapons; everything else had been left behind in the king's camp. Somehow, she would have to find money to replace them. All except the Highever sword; that was irreplaceable. The sword Haelia Cousland had used against the werewolves. The sword that represented the Cousland family's power and might. It had been too heavy for Rhianna to wield, so she'd left it behind.

Perhaps it was fitting that it lay abandoned in whatever would be left of the king's camp after the darkspawn finished with it, although the thought of it being wielded by a darkspawn turned her stomach. Still, even that was more pleasant than to think of the sword being left in Highever. Better the darkspawn should have it than it fall into the hands of Rendon Howe.

"Wait just one more minute. I do have something yet to offer." Flemeth disappeared into her hut.

"Are you glad to be coming with us?" Rhianna asked the young woman at her side.

Morrigan lifted a brow, as if surprised by the question. "Mother wishes for me to expand my horizons, and experience things beyond the Wilds. I suppose this will give me the opportunity."

"But is this what you want?"

"What I want?" Morrigan's eyes narrowed, and she looked out over the swamp. "What I  _want_  is to see mountains. I wish to witness the ocean and step into its waters. I want to experience a city rather than see it in my mind or read it in a book. So yes, this is what I want. Although actually leaving is . . . harder than I thought it would be. Perhaps Mother is right - it must simply be done quickly, without a great deal of thought."

Flemeth returned with two bundles. One, she handed to Alistair, and the other to Rhianna. "I know it is not much," the old woman said, "but I can't very well send you both out into the world with just the clothes on your backs. This will at least keep you warm and fed until you make it to Lothering."

"Thank you." Rhianna looked down at the bedroll and rations she had been given. "Truly, thank you. We are so grateful for all the help you have given us."

"No, no," she demurred. "Thank you. You are the Grey Wardens here, not I. You will soon realize that my contribution pales in comparison to the task that lies ahead for both of you."

"Farewell, Mother. Do not forget the stew on the fire." Morrigan, now she had resigned herself to leaving, seemed eager to be gone. "I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah," Flemeth spat. "'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hunt, swallowed up by the Blight."

Morrigan's face fell. "I . . . all I meant was-"

"Yes, I know." Flemeth's voice and expression both softened for a moment as she regarded her daughter, who looked genuinely distressed. Then, the old woman laughed.

"Do try to have fun, dear."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta readers: Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum and Amanda Kitswell, and also to my lovely reviewers: Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, DarkspawnHorror, Nymra, and Riptide.
> 
> I apologize for not responding to the last chapter's reviews yet; I was writing all the way up until midnight last night, working feverishly while NaNoWriMo was still in effect. Today, I decided it would be better to get the chapter posted first, and answer reviews later. The good news is that I've basically FINISHED the first draft of Book Two (which was only about half-written before; I mostly worked on the post-Landsmeet stuff during November). So, YAY!


	18. Then we have an arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain and the soldiers who survived Ostagar arrive in Lothering.

**_6 August, 9:30 Dragon  
_ ** **_Lothering_ **

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain stepped out of his tent into the weak morning sunshine, and looked out over the collection of tents camped just north of Lothering. It was not an unsizable force, but it looked pathetic and small compared to the might of the army that had been gathered just a few days ago at Ostagar. It looked terrifyingly small when compared to the size of the darkspawn horde that still surged in the south, and was no doubt growing larger with every passing day.

Most everyone was up and awake by now, and soldiers milled about the campsite, or congregated in small groups as they ate and talked. There was, however, none of the enthusiastic camaraderie that had been the norm at Ostagar, when things were still going well. Now, people spoke in hushed tones, and no laughter split the morning air. Morale was low; even though Loghain's soldiers - troops from Gwaren, mostly, along with some from Maric's Shield - were grateful to have gotten away with their lives, the knowledge that so many others had died hung over them all like a shroud. As they had marched north, a few stragglers who had escaped the darkspawn at Ostagar joined up with the retreating army, but they were far too few.

And the knowledge that their king was almost certainly dead was a devastating blow.

Yes, it had been a long march to Lothering, and Loghain intended to allow the soldiers a single day of rest here, before they continued on to the capital.

Loghain put on a stoic face in front of his men, but in the dark of night, his fists clenched with rage and grief as he tried to cope with the enormity of what had been lost.

Thousands who had died in the battle, their lives wasted by a flawed battle plan, a plan of Loghain's design. He'd convinced himself it was the best they could do, and it was, considering Cailan's desire to fight alongside the Wardens. But in hindsight it was obvious he'd made a terrible mistake. It was unconscionable to have allowed the battle to have proceeded as it did. Loghain should have put his foot down, and refused to engage the darkspawn according to Cailan's demands, king or no. The soldiers followed Loghain, after all, not Cailan, and Loghain should have pressed the issue and put Cailan firmly in his place.

But, against his better judgement, Loghain had agreed. He'd been exhausted, and frustrated, and yes, angry with the king, for a wide variety of reasons. Worn down by weeks of arguments, and perhaps his own desire to see this finished as soon as possible. Now, however, there was no denying it had been the wrong thing to do, and thousands of lives had been lost. Stupidly, wastefully, shamefully lost.

Including Cailan's.

Of course, when they had taken the field that night, Loghain knew there was a chance the king would not survive. They were at war; there was no guarantee of survival for anyone. Even so, Loghain hadn't truly believed the worst would happen.

Until it happened.

Now, memories assaulted him:

_Cailan and Anora, discovered together in one of the palace wine cellars, wielding broomsticks and surrounded by broken bottles, casualties of their battle against "ogres."_

_Cailan, exhausted with grief, and sallow beneath his blonde hair, as he stood silent in front of his father's empty pyre._

_Cailan and Anora dancing together on their wedding day, looking as happy as two people could possibly be together._

_The tears that stained Cailan's three-year-old cheeks, as he climbed into Loghain's lap and begged to be told where his mummy had gone, and when she would be back._

_Two years later, five-year-old Cailan asking the same about Maric, after the king had gone into the Deep Roads with the Orlesian Grey Wardens._

_Cailan laughing as his new mabari pup licked his face enthusiastically._

_The gentle crease in his forehead as Cailan offered sincere condolences when he learned about Celia's death._

With each new image that arose in his mind, Loghain's gut twisted painfully. He had loved Cailan. In spite of the boy's foolishness and bravado, in spite of his fascination with legend and glory, in spite of his infidelities and the ways he had harmed Anora, time and time again. In spite of everything, Loghain had loved the boy. Knowing he was dead - knowing Loghain would never again see that grin, so like Maric's, or hear the boy's laughter - caused something to tear open in his heart.

It had not yet been confirmed that Cailan was dead. Loghain had sent scouts to the battlefield, but those who had returned had not been able to get onto the field; there were too many darkspawn picking over the corpses. But Loghain could not imagine any scenario in which Cailan could have survived. Not where he was, right on the front lines, with the mountains at his back and nowhere to retreat. More than that, Loghain  _felt_  it, in his gut. A certainty that Cailan was gone from this world.

Loghain had made the right choice on the night of the battle. He truly had. There were far more darkspawn than anyone had anticipated, and his forces could not have broken through if they'd attacked the column prematurely. By the time the beacon was lit, it had been far too late; most likely, Cailan was long dead by that point. Even if he wasn't, Loghain could never have reached him in time, and to have allowed the rest of his soldiers to die needlessly would have been a far greater crime.

_But . . . Cailan was Maric's son._ Rowan's _son. And you abandoned him, and left him to die._

The voice that whispered in his head was not his own, but sounded annoying like that Maker-damned witch Loghain and Maric had met in the Korcari Wilds, so many years ago. Loghain had only known Maric a few days, and there was barely even a tentative friendship between them when they'd been captured by elves and taken to a gruesome hut, where an even more gruesome old woman was in residence. He had never shaken the memories of that night, nor the discomfort he still felt every time he thought about the things the old woman had said.

_Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last._

Was this yet another betrayal of Maric? Maker knows Loghain had done things he regretted, a great many things. He'd never intentionally betrayed his best friend, his king, but Loghain knew he'd done things over the years that hurt Maric, in small ways and occasionally large ones. Perhaps the witch had been right.

Not this time, though. Not with Cailan. Loghain had never intended for the boy to die. Cailan had walked that path of his own free will, knowing the risks and choosing to ignore them.

Still, it was no comfort to remember that Cailan was responsible for his own death.

Loghain's breath caught in his chest. No. That was not true. Cailan was not responsible; the darkspawn were. They had killed him, and for no reason Loghain could begin to fathom. Cailan had been foolish and naive, but to blame him for his own death was wrong-headed.

Now, Loghain would deal with the darkspawn. One way or another, no matter what it took to accomplish, he would drive the darkspawn from Ferelden forever, or die trying.

Loghain rubbed a hand across his face, and stretched his arms over his head. He shifted uncomfortably as joints popped and muscles ached. Maker's balls, but he really was too old for all of this.

After a deep breath to clear his lungs and his head, Loghain walked south through the camp, and into Lothering. Even this early in the day, the streets were crowded, mostly with refugees who had come north fleeing the darkspawn. Loghain was on his way to visit Bann Ceorlic, who still had a sizable number of soldiers. The bann hadn't come to Ostagar, and only a part of his standing army had been lost in the battle. The remaining Lothering Regulars would be put to good use now, that much was certain; Loghain intended to ask Ceorlic - and his troops, save those needed to help evacuate the city before the darkspawn arrived some few days from now - to travel to Denerim. There, Loghain would regroup and decide how to approach this problem that had shifted dramatically in one single, fateful, battle. It was a pity that Lothering would almost certainly be lost, but even with all Ceorlic's soldiers, the town was indefensible. There was no city wall, no fortress where the townspeople could retreat for safety. Best to use their limited resources in a way that had some hope of success against the multiple threats Ferelden now faced.

The darkspawn swarmed across the south, and the might of Ferelden's armies had not been enough to stop them. Now, only a quarter of those soldiers were still alive. More would be needed, and not just to fight the darkspawn. The borders would need to be secured; once word of the defeat at Ostagar traveled beyond Ferelden's borders, Empress Celene might well take that as an invitation to invade. For now, Loghain would send several units of his own Gwaren men to protect the pass near Fort Gherlen, but a new army would have to be raised. This, of course, required funds. Funds that Ferelden's coffers simply did not have. Whether they liked it or not, the banns and arls would need to contribute money and soldiers, both.

The other pressing issue was the matter of the succession. Anora had never been given the Crown Matrimonial, and to Loghain's knowledge Cailan had died without bothering to right down a will in which he passed the throne to his wife in the event of his death. So a Landsmeet would need to be called, to confirm Anora as Queen of Ferelden. Hopefully, there would be little or no resistance from the nobility. Surely they would realize how foolish it would be to oust her, especially now. She had ruled this country well for the past five years; it was common knowledge Anora made the decisions, while Cailan smiled and waved. And if anyone could pull Ferelden through this current crisis, it was Anora.

Besides, there really wasn't any other contender. Perhaps one of the Cousland children might have been considered, but Rhianna was a Grey Warden now, and Fergus was probably dead in the Wilds.

No, the Landsmeet would be stupid to do anything but confirm Anora. Of course, the Landsmeet had done more than its share of stupid things in the past. As difficult as it was to admit, putting Cailan on the throne might have been one of them. With Bryce Cousland as king, the war against the darkspawn would have been much, much different. Bryce was no untested youth; he'd fought in the Rebellion, and knew exactly what was at stake. He wouldn't have made the mistake Cailan made, insisting on a single, decisive battle. Nor would he have fawned over the Grey Wardens, or suggested chevaliers were needed.

Looking back, it did seem that Cailan had not been the right man to take the throne. Fortunately for Ferelden, the right woman had been made queen. Anora's steady hand had kept Ferelden going these past five years, and would continue to do so far into the future. Loghain would make certain of that. In the interim, perhaps it would be wise to name himself regent, to stave off any squabbling until she could be crowned in her own right.

Would there be any serious attempt to remove Anora? In his mind, Loghain ticked off the names of the nobles who were unlikely to oppose the queen: Leonas Bryland, Bann Ceorlic, Nicola Baranti, Gallagher Wulff. Sighard Davies and Alfstanna Eremon; Alfstanna in particular had been a vocal supporter of Anora throughout her rule. Banns Valdric of Oswin, and Tremain of Vintiver. In addition, there were several who weren't likely to make the trip to Denerim, and would therefore at least not stand against Anora: Rodolf of Ayre, Penvenon of Penfro, Dusic of Sothmere and Neruda of the Southron Hills. Rendon Howe might have supported Anora, although it was also possible he would try to get one of his own spawn on the throne. Either way, that didn't matter; Howe's vote would be forfeit. The minute the man showed his face in Denerim, Loghain would see him hanged for what he done to the Couslands.

As for those who would almost certainly speak out against Anora, there weren't terribly many. Ramsay of Abervale and Esmerelle of Amaranthine City, both of whom were staunch traditionalists, as well as Darby of Knotwood Hills who would do whatever Esmerelle did. Vaughan Kendells, who would be Arl of Denerim now, after Urien's death at Ostagar. Vaughan might prove troublesome; there was still more than a little bit of tension since that incident at Maric's wake. More troubling was the somewhat large number of banns whose allegiance wasn't clear. Tanith Curwen, who seemed likely to support Anora, but Loghain didn't know the girl well enough to be certain. Franderel of West Hill, Loren of River Dane, and Reginalda of White River, all of whom had been reasonably loyal to the queen, but tended to be conservative, and might balk at the thought of a "commoner" on the throne by herself. Devon Trumhall who was an almost entirely unknown entity. He'd not sent troops to Ostagar; in truth, nothing had been heard from the man since his surprising appearance at the Landsmeet a year ago. Banns Bronach, Perrin, Fahren and Telmen, all of whose holdings were in the Bannorn, and Maker knows the Bannorn could never be counted on to do anything predictable.

And of course, there was Eamon Guerrin. He would almost certainly oppose Anora's rule, and use Cailan's death as an opportunity to try and remove her from the throne. That might prove to be a problem. Not only did Teagan usually follow his brother's lead, but some of the banns who swore fealty to Eamon in the south might be convinced to do so, as well.

Too, Loghain had not forgotten last year's failed assassination attempt. He still had no idea what had prompted it, but it seemed likely Eamon hoped to get Loghain out of the way before taking some sort of action against Anora. Now, she was more vulnerable than ever before. Perhaps it was time to get Eamon Guerrin out of the way, at least long enough to get Anora securely on the throne.

The question, of course, was how to accomplish this, and nothing came readily to mind. In truth, he barely had the mental energy to get through a day right now. Perhaps he would wait until he arrived in Denerim, and discuss the problem with Anora. She'd been willing to handle the situation before; perhaps he would allow her to follow through with that, now. He'd never had much to do with spies and assassins, but his daughter had both at her command.

Not that he looked forward to that conversation. In truth, Loghain dreaded arriving back in the city. Dreaded the moment when he would have to look into his daughter's eyes and tell her that her husband was dead. In spite of all the things Cailan had done – the women, the lies – Anora had loved him. And, ridiculous as it might sound, Cailan had loved her as well. She would be devastated to know he was dead, along with so many others. It was also possible she hadn't yet heard about recent events in Highever. Or that Rhianna Cousland had become a Grey Warden. Anora was bound to take this news hard; she had always been close to Eleanor, and had considered Rhianna a friend.

Maker's balls.

Rhianna.

As painful as it was to think about Cailan, even worse were thoughts of Rhianna. The beacon had been lit; surely that meant she was still alive. She  _had_ to still be alive. Yes, he had been furious with her - he still was, for what she did the night before the battle - but he hadn't stopped caring for her. The thought of her lying dead, her eyes staring lifelessly as darkspawn tore at her flesh with their teeth . . .

No. That was untenable.

As was the memory of the last time they had spoken.

_There is no 'us.' There hasn't been for quite some time_.

Maker's balls, whatever had possessed him to speak to her so cruelly? Whether it was true or not - and, no doubt, it was true; anything he had once hoped for with Rhianna Cousland was long dead - there had been no call for him to speak to her like that. He'd been angry, and he'd allowed the words to pass from his lips before he could stop them. The worst of it was that most of his anger had not even been directed at her. Yes, knowing she'd spent the night with Cailan had infuriated him, but really, it was the culmination of so many things: his fears for the coming battle, and the months they'd been at war; frustrations at Cailan for his refusal to listen to reason, and for his blatant betrayal of Loghain's own daughter; resentment toward the Grey Wardens, for the way they coddled Cailan, and had claimed Rhianna for their own, and for the necessity of their very presence. Loghain had carried so much tension, for so long, and that afternoon he'd snapped, and Rhianna had taken the brunt of it. For that, he would probably not ever forgive himself, especially if he were never given the opportunity to apologize.

Remarkably, however, he did have reason to believe she was still alive.

On that first day out of Ostagar, a trio of women caught up with the retreating army. One of them was Catrin, and she told an unlikely story of her escape from the darkspawn, after the battle had gone so horribly wrong. Not that escape in and of itself was so unlikely, but the way it happened was almost unbelievable.

"He just showed up out of the blue," Catrin explained, as they sat together beside a campfire as the stars began to emerge in the sky above. "We knew something had gone wrong; it was clear from the sounds of the battlefield that the darkspawn were winning. I was terrified, and had no idea how we were ever going to get out of there with our lives. And then, out of nowhere, Rhianna's hound showed up. Dane led us safely through the darkspawn, and helped us defend ourselves against those that tried to attack us. He saved our lives. And then, once we were in view of army, Dane ran off to the south again, and I haven't seen him since."

Loghain's breath caught in his chest. "Just Dane?" he had asked. "There was no sign of Rhianna?"

"Just Dane."

What did it mean that Dane was by himself? The hound would never have left Rhianna's side if she were injured, or if something was wrong. Really, it was difficult to imagine Dane leaving Rhianna's side at all. Did this mean she was dead? But if so, why had Dane run off again rather than staying with Catrin, or coming to find Loghain?

"Rhianna wasn't with him," Catrin continued. "I didn't see her at all, and that worried me. So I asked Dane if she was all right and . . . well, this might sound silly, but he seemed . . . content. He barked at me, a sort of encouraging bark, and wagged his stumpy little tail. I got the feeling he wanted me to know she was all right."

That certainly sounded like something Dane would do. And surely, if Rhianna had been killed, his grief would have been unmistakable.

This, then, seemed to be good news. The only news Loghain had heard in days that was even remotely pleasant. And now, he was on his way to Denerim to deliver so much bad news to his daughter, and the Landsmeet, and he genuinely had no idea what to do after that. All he really wanted was to sleep for a week, but that was a luxury he would not be able to afford.

Either way, he did not look forward to being back in Denerim.

‹›‹O›‹›

At Ceorlic's estate, Loghain was immediately ushered into the bann's study, and given an effusive greeting.

"Welcome, Your Grace! Welcome! I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are here. The first reports we heard suggested that everyone had died."

"More did die that night than survived," Loghain said. "Including our king."

Ceorlic's smile faded. "Yes, we heard rumors about that, too. So it's true then? King Cailan really is dead?"

"Yes, it's true."

"Then your daughter will be queen. I can't imagine you're disappointed about that."

"Anora is already the queen," Loghain said tiredly. "And it will give me no pleasure to ride into Denerim and tell my daughter that her husband is dead."

"Of course." A muscle near Ceorlic's right eye twitched. "I meant nothing by it."

"I know." Loghain lowered himself into a chair near the fire. "This is a trying time for all of us, and there is much yet to be done. The darkspawn mass in the south, and our first priority will be to rebuild the army, after the losses at Ostagar." He paused. "To that end, I would like you to come to the city with me. You, along with the bulk of your regular soldiers."

"Of course, your Grace. Whatever you say. You know you have my full support, in whatever way I can provide it. Can I offer you some wine?" Ceorlic held up a goblet, but Loghain waved it away.

"No thank you." He paused. "I do appreciate your support. Not only must we deal with the darkspawn, but we need to keep our borders safe as well."

Ceorlic sat in a nearby chair. "From Orlais? Yes. I heard that chevaliers were amassed at Gherlen's Pass - several legions of them. Is this true?"

"I've not yet had confirmation of their arrival, but yes, chevaliers were being sent to 'help' the Grey Wardens. But have no fear; they will not be allowed to enter the country. I intend to send several units of Gwaren soldiers to ensure the border remains secure."

"And is it also true that some of the Grey Wardens survived?"

Loghain leaned forward. "What exactly did you hear?"

"That there are two of them left, ones who had not taken the field at King Cailan's side. And that, rather mysteriously, they managed to survive and are in hiding in the Korcari Wilds."

"Two of them?" Some of the tension in Loghain's shoulders and jaw melted away. One of them had to be Rhianna.

_Thank you, Andraste._

"Yes," Ceorlic confirmed.

Loghain sat back in his chair. "Thank you for that news. I will look into it. Has anything else of interest happened of late?"

"Other than refugees making a cesspool of the city?" Ceorlic rolled his eyes. "A few things, I suppose. There have been reports of bandits trying to extract payment for allowing people to enter the city, but they've always run off anytime my guards have tried to deal with the situation." He paused. "And they're saying an apostate was captured here in the city, supposedly a blood mage who escaped from Kinloch Hold not long ago. He's being held by the templars right here in the city, awaiting transfer to Denerim."

"A blood mage? Really?" That was . . . unusual.

"Yes. All in all, there has been far too much excitement for my taste."

"I fear there will be more in store for us all before this problem with the darkspawn is at an end," Loghain murmured, as he stared into the fire.

‹›‹O›‹›

The two men dined together, but somehow the delicately seasoned squab that the bann's cook served for their lunch - the first kitchen-cooked meal Loghain had been offered in months - didn't sit well in his stomach. Soon afterward, Loghain made his excuses and bid the Bann of Lothering farewell until morning, when they would leave together for Denerim.

The bann had given him a few new things to think about. If Rhianna were alive, she'd be likely to stop here in Lothering at some point for supplies, once she made her way out of the Wilds. Loghain wanted very much to speak to her, not only to apologize for what he had said before the battle, but also to learn more about what had happened at Ostagar. Specifically, whether or not the Grey Wardens betrayed the king. They must have had some part in his death, but had it been deliberate, or merely an accident?

It would be simple enough to arrange for a few of his men to remain here in the city, and keep an eye out for Rhianna, along with Maric's bastard, if he still lived. When she turned up, the guards could escort her to Denerim.

Loghain was also still thinking about the blood mage Ceorlic claimed had been captured. This warranted further investigation. Perhaps he would seek out the templars, and find out the truth of what had happened. Besides, if templars intended to take the man to Denerim, they might as well travel alongside the army.

Or . . . perhaps this provided exactly the opportunity Loghain needed to solve one of his problems sooner rather than later.

What was it Anora had told him, before he left for Ostagar? Arlessa Isolde wanted a tutor for her son, who had shown signs of magic. Trying to get a mage from the Circle would be impolitic, but what about an apostate? One who had been captured and faced unpleasant consequences, and would therefore be very motivated to keep his identity hidden. One who would be grateful to a benefactor who could keep him safe from the templars. Yes, this might be the perfect way to remove Eamon from the picture, at least long enough to see Anora crowned.

If the man was being held by the templars, no doubt he was in the crypts beneath the Chantry. Loghain headed in that direction, through the overflowing, crowded streets.

In the courtyard in front of the Chantry, a Chasind man shouted a message of doom and gloom to anyone who would listen.

"Darkspawn will feast on your living hearts! They will take your children!" A crowd had started to gather around him. "The legions of evil are on your doorstep!" he raged. "They will feast upon our hearts! There is nowhere to run! This evil will cover the world, like a plague of locusts!"

"Please," one of the local men said. "You're scaring the children!"

The barbarian whirled to face the man who had spoken. "Better to slit their throats now than let them suffer at darkspawn hands!"

Some of the people in the crowd gasped, but the man's fears weren't unreasonable. A weight settled in Loghain's stomach at the thought of how many people might die if he couldn't find a way to stop the damned darkspawn, and keep the Orlesians at bay.

With a shake of his head, Loghain pushed open the doors and entered the Lothering Chantry.

It was surprisingly empty of people, considering the crowds in the streets. Perhaps the refugees had given up on asking the Maker for help, and had their fill of prayer. Or perhaps they were too busy with secular pursuits, like finding enough food to eat, and a place to sleep at night where there was some chance of waking up alive the next morning, rather being murdered for a pair of boots, or a loaf of bread, or the bedroll.

Loghain did find some modicum of comfort here, though. It was quiet, and the air was dusty, but smelled vaguely of incense, and it was warmer than the chill autumn air outside. Best of all, he could only barely hear the ranting of the Chasind fellow out in the courtyard.

No templars were in view, so Loghain walked the length of the nave, turned into the south transept, and headed down the stairs that led down into the crypt.

‹›‹O›‹›

A guard let Loghain into a small, dark cell. At the sound of the door closing, and the key being turned in the lock, the man seated at the small wooden table shuddered visibly. Loghain listened as the templar's footsteps retreated; he wanted to make certain this conversation was not overheard.

Loghain remained near the door and studied this apostate, who wasn't a particularly impressive specimen. He was thin, with dark hair, delicate features and pasty skin. His robes were filthy and ragged, and his eyes darted nervously as he kept his hands clutched in his lap. In truth, the man looked more like a beggar than any sort of a mage.

"I understand," Loghain began, "that you escaped from the Circle Tower."

The man glanced at Loghain, then quickly down at his own hands. "Yes, ser." His voice was little more than a whisper.

"And the templars intend to take you to Denerim?"

"I . . . I don't know, ser. To Denerim, or back to the Circle Tower. They don't bother to tell me their plans."

"I see. Are you saying you don't know what will happen to you? I wonder . . . what sort of punishment does a man who has committed crimes such as yours receive?" Loghain already knew the answer: templars intended to execute the man once they reached Denerim. But he was curious as to how this man would respond.

Again, the eyes darted up to Loghain's face, and away again. "I . . . I'm not sure."

That was a lie, judging by the man's body language.

"What if I were to tell you there is a way for you to avoid any sort of punishment at all?"

"What? Are you having a joke at my expense?"

"No. Far from it."

Now the man caught and held Loghain's gaze. "How?"

"I want you to do a service for me. The son of the Arl of Redcliffe is in need of a tutor. You will travel to Redcliffe, and teach him history and grammar and such - there will be no mention of any arcane subjects, officially. But in private, you will also give him lessons on how to control his magic."

"The arl's son . . . he's a mage?"

"Yes. And his mother doesn't want him sent to the Circle."

"I don't blame her," he scoffed.

"I expect," Loghain added, "that Lady Isolde will be very grateful, and that you'll be able to live in quite a bit more comfort than you were afforded at the Circle of Magi. That, and I will do my part to make certain the templars do not trouble you again, and you are not returned to the Circle."

The mage's eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?"

"The catch?"

"Surely, you're not just looking for a tutor. I expect a man like you could find someone far better qualified. Someone who . . . hadn't performed blood magic."

"I think you overestimate the ease of finding apostates in Ferelden. The templars are a zealous lot, as you've no doubt discovered on your own. I've never encountered many illegal mages. I suspect they are all, by necessity, adept at hiding themselves. Still," Loghain stepped closer, and sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table. In a quieter voice he continued, "you are right. There is one additional task that would be required of you."

The man flinched, and turned his head, as though dreading what would come next. "Yes?"

"You needn't look so worried."

The mage shifted in his chair. "I'll be the judge of that, I suppose. What is it you want me to do?"

"I merely need you to poison the Arl. Not right away; wait a few days, until you've settled in and they've taken your presence for granted. I don't want you to kill him. Just give him something that will make him sick enough that he won't be able to travel for the next few weeks, something that can be reversed later. I will send a message to you when I am ready for him to . . . recover from his illness."

"You want me to . . . poison . . . the Arl?"

Loghain lifted a brow. "I thought you were a blood mage. I should think that poisonings would be of little consequence to one such as yourself?"

A soft, defeated frown settled on his lips. "Good point."

"Then you're willing?"

"I . . ." He wrinkled his nose. "Yes, I'm willing." His shoulders sagged, as though he were disappointed with himself for having agreed to this. "How will I get there?"

"You'll be escorted by two of my guards; they'll ensure you arrive safely. When you arrive in Redcliffe, tell the Arlessa that I sent you, by request of Queen Anora."

"As you wish, ser." He paused. "And the templars are all right with this?"

"I don't particularly care what the templars think. They aren't being given a choice."

The man shrugged. "Fine by me."

"Good. Then we have an arrangement."

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain was well pleased with this turn of events. With a single stroke, he had removed any conflict Eamon would have brought to the Landsmeet, and perhaps having this mage insinuate himself in the household at Redcliffe Castle might come in handy again at some point in the future. Now, he had a few arrangements left to make, and then he would return to camp and perhaps allow himself to try and relax with a bottle of wine for the rest of the day.

First, though, he decided to spend a bit of time in prayer. Not that the Maker was likely to give a single damn for anything that happened in Ferelden, but it was possible Andraste might. She had been born here, after all.

Besides, a lifetime of habit was difficult to break, and the scent of incense and candle smoke had awakened in him an urge to light some candles, and pray for those who had died. He walked up to a bank of votives. Only a few of them were lit, which was vaguely unnerving. So many people had died - including, no doubt, many from here in Lothering - it seemed that even if every candle in town burned bright, there would still not be enough to honor the lives of those who had been lost.

At least he could do his part to rectify that. He slid some coins into the donation box, took up a long, slender match, and held it in the flame of a steadily burning candle. He touched this new flame to the pristine, wax-covered wick of a new, unlit candle, and said a silent prayer.

_For Cailan, who died needlessly, and far too young._

Then he lit five more:

_For all those in Maric's Shield who fought with valor before they fell._

_For Urien Kendells, and his Denerim soldiers, who gave their lives in defense of the kingdom._

_For the brave soldiers from Highever, and Lothering, and Oswin, and the sacrifice they made._

_For the Cousland family, betrayed and murdered, may they find a place at the side of the Maker._

_For Anora, that she will find comfort as she weathers this hardship, and the ones ahead._

And finally:

_For Rhianna Cousland. Please, Andraste, wherever she is, keep her safe._

He shook the match vigorously to extinguish the flame, and made his way back out into the bright daylight and bustle of Lothering.

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta readers, Amanda Kitswell, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, Irish_Changeling, DarkspawnHorror, Riptide and LadyDarksbane.  
> .


	19. Pretty as a painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions arrive in Lothering.

****_10 August, 9:30 Dragon  
_ **_Lothering_ ** ****_  
_

‹›‹O›‹›

Four days out of the Wilds, Rhianna and her companions arrived in the town of Lothering.

The journey here had not been pleasant. Not only was Rhianna physically exhausted, in spite of the days of rest in Flemeth's hut, but she could not stop her mind from worrying at uncomfortable thoughts: of her parents, of Solona and Cailan and the thousands of others who died at Ostagar, of Loghain. She tried to remember good things, but even the happiest of memories turned to ash now. When she thought of her parents' laughter and loving support, almost immediately other images rushed in: her mother's face a mask of horror at the sight of Oren's lifeless body; her father lying in a pool of his own blood. The memory of Solona's riddles brought a smile to Rhianna's lips, until it was replaced by gruesome imaginings of what the darkspawn might have done to the girl's corpse.

And of course, there was Loghain. Any memory of Loghain, especially of those brief weeks when they had been lovers, turned Rhianna's stomach when she remembered his cruel words the last time they'd spoken. She still couldn't understand why, what she had done to make him hate her, and she was desperate to just  _stop_  thinking about him, but of course, those were the memories that were hardest to dislodge.

Everything she saw, everywhere she turned, reminded her of something painful, until she feared her grief would boil over and overwhelm her. Each day, she wanted nothing more than to tire herself so thoroughly that she'd fall asleep as soon as they made camp and she tucked herself into her bedroll.

Not that sleep gave her much respite. She was plagued by nightmares of darkspawn. Always darkspawn, fighting and fighting, until she was covered in blood, and their roars echoed in her head, and the stench turned her stomach. She awoke feeling even less rested than before.

As for her companions, both Morrigan and Alistair mostly kept to themselves, and fortunately, the travel itself had been relatively easy. At first, Morrigan deftly guided them through the Wilds, changing course when Alistair indicated there were darkspawn to be avoided. Only twice did they actually have to fight, and both times the battles ended quickly. Flemeth had been right about Morrigan's usefulness. Not only did she know her way through the Wilds, but she had spells that dropped the darkspawn in their tracks.

Once they'd reached the Imperial Highway, they saw no darkspawn at all, and hardly any people, other than occasional travelers, also headed north. A thin haze of smoke hung in the air, and along with it a faint odor of death and decay. Even birds and wildlife seemed mostly absent, and the world was eerily quiet, which did nothing to improve Rhianna's mood.

The companions passed farmhold after farmhold, all of which appeared to be abandoned. In some places, crops lay ripening in the fields or on the trees; the farmers hadn't even taken the time to bring in the harvest before fleeing north. Rhianna and Morrigan collected what food they could carry; no doubt, the potatoes and onions and cabbages and apples would be welcome in the days to come.

As they drew closer to Lothering, more people were on the road - couples, individuals, whole families with babes in arms, a few elderly folk – as they fled the darkspawn horde no longer kept in check by the army at Ostagar. Some of them had horses to pull wagons loaded to the brim with household possessions; others seemed to have left their homes with nothing more than the clothes on their back.

Finally, just before the sun reached its zenith in the sky on their fourth day of travel, the companions reached Lothering. As much as Rhianna had yearned to reach the town – anything to distract her from the horrible thoughts in her head – it was uncomfortable to be back here. It seemed impossible that so short a time had passed since she'd come through with Duncan and Solona.

It had been less than two weeks, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Lothering, too, had changed. As they approached the town, the first sign of trouble was a quintet of bandits who blocked the way in and demanded a "toll." They were easy enough to run off, but it was troubling that the city guard hadn't done so earlier. As Rhianna came down the steps that led into the city from the south, she saw that the number of refugees had easily quadrupled. The camp had become a sea of tents and cots and people who slept on nothing more than the bare ground.

It seemed unlikely much in the way of supplies would be had here, and a night in Dane's Refuge, in an actual bed, was almost certainly out of the question.

"Well, there it is," Alistair said, as they stopped to look down over the town. "Lothering. Pretty as a painting."

"Ah." Morrigan's voice was reminiscent of a cat waiting to pounce. "So you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you, Alistair? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble I take it?"

Alistair turned to face her. "Is my being upset so hard to understand? Have you never lost someone important to you?" He frowned. "Just what would you do if your mother died?"

Morrigan arched a brow. "Before, or after I stopped laughing?"

"Right." Alistair's nose wrinkled with disgust. "Very creepy. Forget I asked."

"You have been quiet," Rhianna said gently. That was true; while they traveled, he'd marched silently along during the days, and at night, spent his evenings near the fire, hunched over and miserable, apparently distraught over the loss of his fellow Wardens, and Duncan in particular. Remembering how she had felt in those first days after she left Highever, Rhianna had decided to leave Alistair to his thoughts. He would come to her when he wanted to talk. If he wanted to talk.

"I know." His shoulders sagged, slightly. "I just haven't felt much like talking lately. I've been . . . thinking."

"No wonder it took so long, then," Morrigan purred.

"Oh, I get it. This is the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life."

"I can be friendly when I desire to," the witch replied. "Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so."

"Anyway," Rhianna interjected, before Alistair could respond. "Let's just do what we came here to do: buy what supplies we can, and see what news there is in town." She glanced at Morrigan and then at Alistair. "Where should we go first?"

"'Tis of no matter to me," Morrigan shrugged.

Alistair's eyes widened, as though surprised by the question. "I don't know. I'll go wherever you think is best."

"All right." Rhianna reviewed the layout of the town in her memory. "We can visit the Chantry, first."

The Chantry was just as Rhianna remembered it, if slightly more busy. Even so, compared to the noise and bustle and tension outside, the atmosphere was mostly peaceful. There were signs, however, of unusual activity: sisters selecting books off shelves and putting them carefully into boxes. Knots of people who were clearly not praying, but had come merely for lack of anywhere else to be. Templars who seemed to be armed more heavily than before. Was it the darkspawn they feared, or trouble with the influx of so many refugees?

At any rate, a trio of these well-armed templars stood in the center of the nave; Rhianna headed in their direction.

"There's word of darkspawn stragglers, but no sign of the main horde," one of the templars was saying, a handsome man with dark skin and long black hair. "We are the only hope of protection this village has now, and I will not abandon them. Nor will any of you. Now, return to your posts." As two of the templars turned and hurried away, Rhianna approached with Alistair and Morrigan close behind.

The templar turned to greet her. "Yes, my lady? Who might you be?"

"Hello, ser. My name is Rhianna Cousland. I'm a Grey Warden. We've just come from the Wilds, seeking supplies, and to see what news you might have."

"I . . . see." He frowned. "I am Ser Bryant, commander of the Lothering templars." That came as a surprise; he looked somewhat too young to be the commander here. "You're a Grey Warden, you say?"

"Yes." Something about his tone caught her attention. "Is this a problem?"

His gaze narrowed. "Teyrn Loghain has declared the Grey Wardens traitors, and believes they may have been responsible for the king's death. Were you not aware of this?"

Loghain had done what?

Maker's balls. What in the world was he thinking?

She struggled to keep her features under control. "No, I was not aware. Most of the Wardens were killed at Ostagar. I'm not certain why Loghain would blame King Cailan's death on us, but I assure you it's just a misunderstanding. The Wardens had no part in the king's death. Cailan was killed by the darkspawn."

"I found it difficult to believe the Grey Wardens would be as careless or malicious as the teyrn seems to think, but either way, there it is. Either way, it is best you not linger here. Just . . . in case."

"Of course," Rhianna agreed. "We'll leave as soon as we can. But I was hoping to hear news."

"You want news? I'm afraid none of it's good." He paused. "Our bann was summoned by Teyrn Loghain, and he took his soldiers north with him. They marched with the army toward Denerim four days ago. Lothering has been abandoned."

"Abandoned?" Rhianna was alarmed. "Bann Ceorlic just left? With all of his soldiers?"

"Not all of them, but the few left behind aren't enough to defend the city against the horde. Now myself and the other templars are the only ones left to protect the people of this village."

"You'll have to evacuate," she said. "Move north, or perhaps west to Oswin or Rainesfere."

"Easier said than done," he sighed, "and there are many here who are resistant to the idea of leaving their homes. But we will evacuate as many as we can before the horde reaches us. I will stay as long as I am needed."

"What of the rest of Ferelden? Have you had word from anywhere else?"

"Only if you are interested in the business of mages."

Mages? Her eyes narrowed. "I am."

"We had a blood mage here in Lothering not long ago, a man who escaped from the Circle of Magi, but he was taken off our hands. Even more troubling, I've had word that the templars who watch over the Circle have sent to Denerim, asking Grand Cleric Elemena to invoke the Right of Annulment."

"Maker's blood." The Right of Annulment was used only in extreme circumstances, and gave the templars permission to slaughter every mage in the tower. "That can't be right. It would be a . . . disaster. I was at the tower just a few weeks ago, and nothing was wrong. Nothing of this magnitude, anyway. What happened?"

"Apparently, things have changed." Ser Bryant shrugged. "I don't have details, but to have such a call when mages are needed to fight the darkspawn, it must have been something terrible indeed." He paused. "That really is all I can think of to tell you. Now, please. Do us all a favor and get yourselves out of Lothering as soon as you can. And lay low until this business with the teyrn blows over."

"We will. Thank you, Ser Bryant."

He nodded. "Travel safely, and may the Maker watch over you."

"May He watch over us all," Alistair replied.

‹›‹O›‹›

The streets were too crowded and noisy for the companions to have any conversation, so Rhianna just led the way toward Dane's Refuge, in the hope of a hot meal and perhaps different gossip before they left town. Her mind raced with the things they had already learned.

The Right of Annulment? What in the world could have happened for the templars to have taken such a drastic step? And what was Loghain thinking, calling the Grey Wardens traitors? She would need to clear up that misunderstanding as quickly as possible. If only Loghain were still here, but it appeared as though he had several days' head start on his way to Denerim.

When they walked in, the tavern was packed with people, even more people than had been here when she and Solona and Duncan passed through. There would be no beds for them to sleep in tonight. Ah well. With any luck, at least they could buy a meal before continuing on their way.

Perhaps Leandra Amell would be willing to put them up again for the night, assuming she hadn't left town already. She'd been so generous and friendly two weeks ago. Although . . . two of Leandra's children had been at Ostagar, and might well now be dead. And, of course, Rhianna would have to give the sad news about Solona . . .

No. No visit would be made to the Amells. Rhianna barely knew them, after all, and right now she couldn't bear the thought of talking about Solona in the past tense.

Rhianna turned toward the bar, where the tavern keeper stood, wiping down glasses with a damp rag. Before she could make it across the room, two armored men stepped in front of her and blocked her way.

"Well, look what we have here," one of them said with a chuckle. "I think we've just been blessed."

One of them had his shield on his arm, and Rhianna saw the device: a yellow wyvern. These men were from Gwaren.

"Uh oh. Loghain's men." Apparently Alistair had noticed the device as well. "This can't be good."

The man with the shield spoke. "Didn't we spend all morning asking about a woman by this very description? And everyone in this miserable little hole of a town said they hadn't seen her? It seems we were lied to." Rhianna glanced around the room; there were three more men in Gwaren livery nearby, in addition to the two who had approached her.

Before Rhianna could respond, a woman in Chantry robes rushed forward. "Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt more poor souls seeking refuge from the troubles in the south." The woman had an Orlesian accent; with a start, Rhianna realized this was the same sister who had approached her in the Chantry when she lit candles for her family. The one who had told her the Maker would give her no burden heavier than she could bear. That seemed laughable right now.

"They're not refugees," one of the soldiers barked, "you can see that as well as we can. Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them."

Patrons who had been sitting nearby began to move quietly toward the sides of the room, or out the front door.

"Let's all say calm, shall we?" Rhianna took a step forward, her palms up in a non-threatening gesture. "No one has lied to you. Me and my companions just arrived in Lothering this morning. We know none of these people, nor they us. If you've got something to say, say it to me, and leave everyone else out of this. There's no reason for anyone to get hurt."

"They're not going to listen," Alistair said. "Those are Loghain's men. They'll blindly do whatever he tells them to do."

The man who appeared to be the leader stood straighter and turned his gaze on Alistair. "I'm not the blind one here. I was at Ostagar, where the teyrn saved us from the Grey Wardens' treachery."

"The Grey Wardens didn't kill the king," Rhianna soothed. "I swear to you, whatever Loghain believes, that's not the way it happened."

"Well of course you'd say that, wouldn't you?" he replied. "You're one of them. But Teyrn Loghain says the Grey Wardens betrayed the king. Led the king to his death, and the teryn could do nothing to save him."

Alistair puffed up with anger. "The Grey Wardens didn't kill the king!" he shouted. "It was Loghain who betrayed the king, and abandoned him on the field! Loghain is the traitor, not us!"

_Damn it_. Was he trying to make things worse? Rhianna put a hand on Alistair's arm, willing him to be quiet.

"I was  _there_!" one of the Gwaren men said. "We waited and waited for the signal to charge, but by the time it was lit, the battle had already been lost. I just thank the Maker the teyrn saw through your scheme, and pulled us out of the trap in time, or we'd all be dead alongside King Cailan!"

Alistair tensed beside her, and drew in a breath, but Rhianna squeezed down on his arm. "I was at Ostagar, too," Rhianna said, as calmly as she could manage, "and I swear to you, the Grey Wardens did not betray the king. There was no trap. There were just far more darkspawn than any of us expected."

The soldier's eyes narrowed, but some of the tension left his shoulders. "Be that as it may, the teyrn wants us to bring you to Denerim."

"I am willing to travel to Denerim," she said, and again Alistair huffed, as though he meant to interrupt. "I promise you," she continued quickly, "I'm as eager to speak with Loghain as he is to speak with me. But surely, we can handle this calmly, yes, without any violence?"

"They're just going to kill us, Rhianna." Alistair pulled his sword. "I say we beat them to it."

"Enough talk!" The leader drew his sword, a huge two-handed weapon that seemed impossibly big inside the walls of the tavern. Those patrons who hadn't already backed away now ran for cover, turning over tables and knocking over chairs in their wake. "Take the woman into custody. Kill the mouthy one and anyone else who gets in your way."

_Damn it all!_

The leader ran at Rhianna, swinging his sword as if he meant to knock her down with the flat of the blade. Instinctually, Rhianna drew her weapons as she stepped to the right, and easily dodged the attack. A flash of light - one of Morrigan's spells – flew past and burst in the center of the man's chest, knocking him backward. Nearby, Alistair crossed swords with two of the others, and, remarkably, the red-haired Chantry sister had also entered the fray, wielding a pair of daggers she must have had hidden in her robes.

The bastard sword came at Rhianna again, and she parried with her longsword. The impact of the blow caused an ache in her shoulder; she wouldn't be able to withstand much more of this man and his two-handed sword. With a quick step to the side, she hooked her foot behind her opponent's knee. He crashed to the ground, and Rhianna brought her foot down hard upon the hand that still clutched the hilt of his sword. He howled in pain and released his hold on the weapon, which Rhianna kicked away under the table. Careful not to nick his skin, she pushed the point of her sword into his neck.

"All right!" he shouted, "You've won! We surrender!"

The other Gwaren men withdrew from battle, and two of them helped their commander back onto his feet. Before anyone else could speak, the Chantry sister put herself between Rhianna and the commander.

"This is good." She turned to Rhianna. "It looks to me as though they've learned their lesson, and we can all stop fighting now."

"No!" Alistair's tone was harsh. "We can't just let them go. They were going to kill us! And if we spare their lives, they'll just report to Teyrn Loghain."

"They surrendered," Rhianna said firmly. "We don't kill enemies who have surrendered." Alistair's lip curled, but before he could reply, she continued, "Besides, we  _want_ them to report to Loghain." She turned to the leader of the Gwaren men. "I want you to take a message to the teyrn for me."

"A message?" He panted. "W-what do you want me to tell him?"

"That he's wrong about the Grey Wardens. We didn't betray the king. And right now, our first - our only - priority is finding a way to stop the darkspawn before they destroy all of Ferelden. Will you tell him that? From Rhianna."

"From Rhianna. Yes, ser." The man nodded vigorously. "I'll tell him. Right away. I'm going right now, in fact." He gestured to the others that they should make for the door. "And thank you, for the mercy you showed, milady. Thank you."

As the soldiers left the tavern, Rhianna surveyed the damage they had caused. Two tables were broken, along with several chairs and myriad glasses and pieces of crockery. She leaned down to right an overturned chair, and was hit by a wave of exhaustion. She was too tired to clean this up. Perhaps she would just give the innkeeper some coin and leave it at that.

"That was awkward," Alistair said as he tried to set one of the tables back on its feet, only to have it topple over again.

"Yes." Rhianna turned to face him. "It was. Very awkward." She struggled to keep her voice calm. "Were you trying to goad them into attacking us?"

"What?"

"Did you not listen to a word they said? They wanted us to travel with them to Denerim. Yes, I suspect they intended for us to come along as prisoners, but they were supposed to take us to the capital so we could talk to Loghain. Which is one of the things I would most like to do. If we can just sit down with him, and explain what happened, we could all work together to end this Blight. And even if that weren't the case, did you really think it a good idea to call their commander – to whom they are obviously very loyal – a traitor? If you'd have kept quiet, we could have managed that without any fighting."

"Are you joking? You think is  _my_  fault?" A deep furrow formed across his brow. "Besides, we can't go 'talk' to Loghain. We'd be walking right into the lion's den, assuming we even lived that long. Those men were happy to kill us, or didn't-"

Before he could finish the sentence, the Chantry sister approached. "I apologize for interfering back there, but I couldn't just sit by and not help."

The woman had put away her weapons, but her robes and skin were still spattered with blood. Even so, her expression was friendly and open; it was almost difficult to believe she'd just battled – and held her own – against a bunch of Gwaren Regulars.

"Yes, I noticed," Rhianna said. "And thank you." The woman had tried to help keep the situation from escalating, after all. "I also noticed that you did well for yourself in the fighting. I wasn't aware the Chantry offered training at arms."

"It doesn't, except for the templars." A smile played across her lips. "But I wasn't born in the Chantry, you know. Many of us had more colorful lives before we joined." She gave a slight nod of her head. "Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering."

"I'm Rhianna. And this is Alistair, and Morrigan. And Dane."

"A lay sister?" Alistair asked. "Then you have taken no vows?"

"That is correct," Leliana affirmed. "I joined the Chantry to live a life of religious contemplation, but I am no priest." She turned back to Rhianna. "Those men said you are a Grey Warden. This means you will battle the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?"

"Yes," Rhianna replied slowly. "I am a Grey Warden."

"Excellent! After what happened in the south, you'll need all the help you can get." Leliana smiled more brightly. "That is why I'm coming along with you."

"You're . . . what?" Rhianna's brow furrowed at the sister's words.

"I'm coming with you!" Leliana laughed.

"I'm sorry, Sister," Rhianna said carefully, "but that's not going to work. We couldn't possibly guarantee your safety. And, well, you saw what just happened. Apparently, there are people looking for me. It would be far too dangerous for you to travel with us."

"Ah, I thought you might say that, but none of these things are really problems. As you already have seen, I can take care of myself, yes? I can fight." That much was true; she'd done well with her daggers. "Not only that; I can do much more than fight," Leliana continued. "As I said, I was not always a lay sister. I put aside that life when I came here, but now . . . if it is the Maker's will, I will take it up again. Gladly. Because the Maker wants me to join you."

"The Maker?" Alistair caught Rhianna's eye. "More crazy? I thought we were all full up with Morrigan here."

Rhianna ignored him, and turned back to Leliana. "Can you . . . elaborate?"

"I know it sounds absolutely insane," Leliana said earnestly, "but it's true! I had a dream. A vision. Of you, and of us together, fighting against the darkspawn, and against the dragon that will come."

The dragon? Did she mean the archdemon? What could she possibly know about that?

"Look at the people here." Leliana made a sweep of her arm to encompass the other patrons of the tavern, and Rhianna's eyes followed the gesture. People stood about, confused by the battle they had just witnessed, or cowering where they had hidden during the fighting, as though afraid violence would break out again. "They are lost in their despair," Leliana continued, "and this darkness and chaos will spread. The Maker does not want things to end this way."

Didn't he? Rhianna had yet to see a single sign that the Maker cared at all about what happened in Ferelden. She bit back that reply, and instead said, "If you feel sorry for these people, why not help them here? Help them pack their things and flee from the darkspawn. Or help them gather their courage and fight, when the time comes."

"Then what? What happens when the horde comes? Everything here will be destroyed, and the horde will follow anywhere we flee until all we know is destroyed. You  _know_  this is true." Leliana's gaze bored into Rhianna's. "When I heard about the darkspawn, I felt something urge me to leave my sheltered life in the cloister. To do something. Anything. And then my vision came. It cannot be coincidence, that you are brought here so soon after I was called by the Maker. I knew this from the first moment I set eyes upon you, two weeks ago, when you came to pray in the Chantry. You remember, yes?"

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "I remember."

"Now, I know that what you do, what you are  _meant_  to do, is the Maker's work. Let me help you. I promise, you will not regret it. And by serving you, I will be serving His holy plan. We all will."

"Her plea seems wholehearted," Alistair said. "And even though she seems a little . . . strange, she does have skill."

"Visions from the Maker?" Morrigan's voice was harsh. "This woman is clearly one archdemon short of a Blight."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?" Alistair quipped. "And anyway, she seems more 'ooh, pretty colors!' than "Muahahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab, kill, kill!' I vote to let her come along." Then, his nose wrinkled. "I mean, if that's what you want, Rhianna."

Rhianna was far from certain Leliana had much to offer, but Alistair was right; she hardly seemed to pose any sort of threat, and perhaps she would be able to help. What harm could there be in allowing her to come along?

"Very well. You can come with us," she told Leliana.

Morrigan gave a sharp intake of breath. "Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought."

Rhianna turned to the witch. "I will not turn away help when it is offered."

Morrigan rolled her eyes, but then nodded her head from side to side as though she conceded the point. "Very well."

"Thank you!" A bright smile lit up Leliana's face. "I swear, I will not let you down."

"You're welcome."

Was this the right thing to have done? Most likely, they would just lead this woman to an early death. Then again, Rhianna truly did need all the help they could get, especially if Loghain believed the Wardens were a threat. And it's not as though this woman was likely to fare better by staying here in Lothering.

At any rate, it was done.

"Why don't all of you find a table," Rhianna suggested, "while I try and convince the tavern keep to find something for us to eat." As Alistair and the others righted a table and several chairs, Rhianna crossed to the bar.

The innkeeper watched her through slightly narrowed eyes, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "You going to make more trouble? We've about all we can stand in Lothering just now."

"I'm sorry about the mess." Rhianna glanced over her shoulder at the shambles in the common area of the tavern. "I promise, my companions and I aren't here to make trouble. I'll happily give you some coin, to make up for anything that was damaged."

The mention of coin seemed to cheer him. "Eh, them soldiers had it coming, and they were trouble enough themselves. Drinking too much and badgering honest folk with their questions. So long as you don't start anything more, you and your friends are welcome here." He uncrossed his arms and rested his palms on the counter top. "Right, then. Name's Danal. Sorry, I can't chat much . . . as you see, we've a full house."

"I don't suppose you have any rooms for the night?"

"I'm sure you can guess what my answer's going to be, can't you? Look around . . . people are sleeping on the floors and in the attic. That's how many rooms I don't have. I could provide you with some refreshments, however." He leaned even closer. "When Teyrn Loghain marched by, he left those fellows behind to look for Grey Wardens. I suppose that really is you?"

"Yes. Although I prefer if you could keep that to yourself? For obvious reasons."

"Oh, aye. Teyrn Loghain's a good man, but I have no quarrel with you, whatever he says. My grandfather served in the Free Marches, so I guess your secret's safe with me. So, how about a drink? And I think I can manage something hot from the kitchen for you, as well. If that would be agreeable."

"I cannot tell you just how agreeable a hot meal would be, and I know my companions would feel the same." Rhianna slid her hand across the counter, leaving a few sovereigns on the bar in front of him.

"Let me get someone right on that." He pocketed the coins before disappearing through a doorway. When he returned a minute later, he carried a bottle and a pair of glasses. "Care for a glass of something? This is relatively good port. Better than the stuff I've been serving everyone else, anyway," he offered.

Rhianna nodded gratefully. "So," she took care to keep her tone conversational, "Teyrn Loghain marched through Lothering with his troops? And took Bann Ceorlic's men with him when he left?"

"Aye, the teyrn and his army came through here five days ago, and then marched off for Denerim the following day. I've heard that the teryn has been declared the new regent, now that the king is dead. Makes sense, I suppose, what with his daughter being the queen." The man took a sip of the port he had poured for himself, then leaned closer. "Some folk aren't happy about him being named regent, though. There are rumors he had something to do with the king's death." The man stood up straight again. "Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard? The darkspawn killed King Cailan, sure enough. If Teyrn Loghain couldn't save the king from that end, then nobody could. But why am I telling you anything? You're a Grey Warden, you were there at Ostagar, right? You tell me what happened."

"You're right. The teyrn had nothing at all to do with Cailan's death. There were a great many more darkspawn that day than anyone expected. That's what happened. The king's army was simply . . . overwhelmed. Neither the Grey Wardens nor Teyrn Loghain could have saved the king."

"Is it true there's not just darkspawn in that horde? I hear there are people with them . . . folks who are sick with the blight, and their minds are all twisted and mad. I heard tell of a man meeting his own brother on the field. Yet when he called out to him, his brother didn't even recognize him and just attacked."

Maker. People succumbing to the blight sickness already? "I haven't seen anything like that." Not yet, anyway, although Arcill's illness might have been progressing in that direction.

"All I have to say is thank the Maker we didn't lose Teyrn Loghain at Ostagar. He pulled his troops out just in time, so it's said. Without him, we'd be lost, with no one left to fight the darkspawn."

"I agree. Ferelden will need those soldiers all too soon." Rhianna paused. "What about you? Do you intend to stay here? Without the bann's men to defend the city, shouldn't you evacuate?"

"And go where?"

"South Reach? Denerim? West to Rainesfere? I don't remember seeing any of Bann Teagan's men at Ostagar, so he's probably still got soldiers to defend against the darkspawn."

"Eh, I've lived in Lothering my whole life. It's my home. I've no desire to leave it. I figure I'll stick it out a while longer, anyway. I'll admit that I do have a bag packed, though. Just in case things get too bad."

"Good." She leaned close. "I think they will get that bad, so just make sure you're prepared to leave, all right? And you'll go before it's too late? Promise?"

He stared at her, and a crease formed across his brow. "All right, milady. I promise."

"Thank you." She took another sip of her port; it really was quite good. "Have you heard any news from elsewhere?"

"Well now, let's see. I heard tell something bad happened in Highever. The elves rose up, unhappy about something or another. They say the teyrn and his whole family were murdered." Rhianna's stomach flipped. Elves? That was the story being told? "And," he continued, "I hear the dwarven king has passed on. He was an old bugger, but even so he was probably poisoned or assassinated. That's how the dwarves normally go out, isn't it? Oh! And get this: a few folks who've traveled the east roads claim there's werewolves in the Brecilian Forest. Actual werewolves! They haven't been around since the days of Dane and his ilk. I'm not sure I credit that one with any truth, though."

"Werewolves?" Rhianna forced a laugh, although that thought made her uneasy, considering she knew very well werewolves hadn't died out centuries ago. Even so, she was far more troubled by the knowledge that Arl Howe's name wasn't connected with what happened in Highever. Maker's balls. At least Loghain knew the truth, and would do something about it once he arrived in Denerim. There was no way he would allow Howe to get away with murdering the Couslands.

And what about these guards Loghain had left behind? Did he really believe the Grey Wardens killed the king? Was it possible Loghain thought  _she_  had done something to betray the king? To betray Ferelden? Perhaps he thought that was the reason they had failed to light the signal beacon on time.

The thought chilled her to the bone.

A woman came from the back room, carrying plates full of steaming hot food toward the table where Rhianna's companions sat talking together.

"There's your meal, ser," Danal said. "I suppose it's time for me to stop talking your ear off anyway, and get back to work."

"Thank you," Rhianna replied. "For the port, and the conversation. Take care, will you?"

"That I will. And you as well, ser. May the Maker watch over you."

"Andraste watch over us, as well."

When the bartender turned away, before Rhianna could stand to join the others, someone slid onto the stool beside her, and put a hand on her arm.

"Fancy meeting you here."

She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Daveth?"

A grin broke out across his face. "At your service."

"Daveth!" She threw her arms around him, and pulled him close. Laughing, he returned the embrace.

When they pulled apart, she held him at arms distance and studied his face. There was an ugly, half-healed bruise on his forehead, but otherwise, he looked no worse for wear.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you must have died at Ostagar, with the other Wardens!"

"I probably should have, but one of those ugly bastards knocked me in the head," he gestured to the bruise. "Everything went black, and when I woke up, the battle was over. It was morning, and I was surrounded by corpses, and there were darkspawn and crows fighting over the spoils. After I got over my surprise at being alive, I managed to sneak away into the woods and then made my way here. I figured if there was any chance that you, or any of the other Wardens, were still alive, you'd end up in Lothering eventually. I must say I'm very happy to have been right about that. I would have said something earlier - joined in to help with those Gwaren bastards who gave you trouble - but it was clear you had it under control. I didn't want to startle you, or have you thinking you'd seen a ghost."

Close to tears, Rhianna hugged him again. "Oh, Daveth. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you." She paused. "What about Solona? Did she make it out?"

"I . . . don't know." His smile faltered. "Last I saw of her, she was fighting alongside Duncan and the king. It . . . it was horrible." He closed his eyes for a moment, then held Rhianna's gaze. "There were so many of them, and they just kept coming and kept coming and we fought and fought and fought, but there was no end to the darkspawn.

"And then, after what seemed like forever, we saw the beacon light up, at the top of the tower. The signal that Loghain's men would attack, right? But then I felt this . . ." He shook his head. "I don't even know how to describe it. It was like a hand reached inside of my gut and tugged, hard. And I looked up to see this huge creature heading straight for the king. An ogre, I guess it's called. With horns on its head and blue skin, and it picked up the king and shook him like a doll, and tossed him to ground, and he lay still, all broken and bloody.

"Then I turned and got bashed in the head, and that's the last thing I remember."

"Cailan was killed by an ogre?"

"Yeah." He chuckled humorlessly. "About a minute after that beacon lit up."

Rhianna leaned her elbows on the bar and put her face in her hands as she struggled against tears. She and Alistair had been too late. They'd lit the sodding beacon far too late. Even if Loghain had charged, nothing could have saved Cailan, nor any of the others, most likely.

In a way, Loghain was right. The Grey Wardens really had killed Cailan.  _She_  had killed Cailan. If only she'd followed her instinct, and sprinted to the top of the tower. So many people might still be alive . . .

Or maybe everyone would have died anyway. There really was no way to know.

She looked up, and caught Daveth's gaze again. "So you don't know what happened to Duncan? Or Solona?"

"No, I'm sorry. They were both alive last time I looked, before I got knocked out. But after that?" He shrugged.

Rhianna's vision blurred, and she forced back a sob. Solona was dead. It was foolish to keep holding onto hope that the woman had survived. She was dead. She had to be dead. That many darkspawn and ogres, and all Solona had were her spells . . . no, she couldn't have survived all that. It was a miracle Daveth had.

"Thank Andraste you made it out alive," she said, clutching at his arm as a wave of gratitude washed over her.

"Yeah, I must say I'm not disappointed about that." He gave her a crooked, but sincere, smile, and cradled her cheek in the palm of his hand. "And happier than I can say to see that you did as well, milady."

She managed a genuine smile. "Come." She stood and took his hand. "Let's have something to eat, and figure out where to go from here."

‹›‹O›‹›

Figuring out where to go next, however, was easier said than done. Alistair wanted to go to Redcliffe, which was the last thing Rhianna wanted to do. She was torn between needing to speak with Loghain, and worry that showing her face in Denerim might prove to be a very bad idea, now that word seemed to be spreading that the Grey Wardens had been responsible for Cailan's death. Perhaps it would be better to try and meet up with the rest of the Grey Wardens who were on their way from Orlais. Morrigan was curious to learn more about what was happening at the Circle of Magi. Leliana, Daveth and Dane seemed happy to do whatever anyone else wanted.

Mostly, though, the others continually deferred to Rhianna, asking her what she thought they should do, but in truth she wasn't sure what would be best, and she was too exhausted right now to make any important decisions. So, in the end, she'd announced they would travel north until night fell - just a few hours hence - and make camp. Perhaps things would be clearer in the morning.

So, after filling their bellies, the companions stepped out of the tavern into the mid-day sun, and headed toward the windmill whose blades still turned gracefully, but somewhat faster than Rhianna remembered, as if they, too, felt the urgency of the darkspawn's approach.

They passed by the cage Rhianna had seen on her first visit here. She turned to see the Qunari still inside, standing much as he had all those days ago.

Curious, Rhianna approached the cage. There was something about this man that called out to her. Had done since the first time she saw him, when the child threw a rock and the man didn't strike out with any sort of emotion. Maybe it was his control she envied. She felt as though she were about to fly into a temper one moment, and break down in tears the next. How was it he managed to remain so steadfastly calm?

She didn't speak, she merely stared at the man until he turned his gaze to her.

"You have returned," he said simply.

"And you're still here."

"I am locked in a cage, am I not? Surely my presence here is less surprising than your own."

"Fair enough," Rhianna replied. "I suppose I'm just surprised that you're still . . . alive. You've been in that cage for," she counted back in her head, "at least twenty days now."

"Yes. And you have returned, but with different companions. Except the hound. Was it their loyalty that lagged, I wonder, or your own?"

Maker. To be reminded of Solona and Duncan like that made her gut twist; she struggled to keep her expression neutral.

"It wasn't a matter of loyalty at all," she murmured. "They both fell in battle."

"Ah. This, I understand."

"The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire family," Leliana said quietly. "Even the children."

That's right; that was the story Rhianna had heard weeks ago, in the tavern.

"What?" Alistair took a step back, away from the cage.

"It is as she says," the man replied.

Rhianna thought of Oren, lying on the floor of his bedroom in a pool of his own blood, and rage surged up inside her, but she managed to force it down again.

"Are you guilty? Of killing them?" Somehow, Rhianna found it difficult to believe this man was a murderer, that he had killed a family - children - in cold blood. He seemed gentle, but no doubt, that was merely an act.

"Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed?"

"Did you kill those people?"

"Yes. I killed them." He shrugged. "And yes, I feel guilt. But whatever I feel about the things I've done, my life is forfeit. After what I did, I waited until the knights arrived to bring me here to face the Chantry's justice. Now, death awaits me at the hands of the darkspawn."

He had killed people, but then turned himself in for punishment? This made no sense.

"Why did you do it?"

"That is between me and my god."

Rhianna's gaze narrowed, and she put her hands on her hips.

The man took a deep breath and let it out again. "Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret."

"I have neither of those things," she murmured. "I do know about . . . regret."

No matter his demeanor now, he was a killer. He had admitted as much. Again, a vision of Oren flashed through her memory.

She shrugged, "If you are resigned to you fate, then I shall leave you to it."

As she turned to walk away, Morrigan's voice halted her progress. "This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone."

"Mercy?" Alistair said. "I wouldn't have expected that from you."

"I would also suggest," Morrigan sneered, "that Alistair take his place in the cage."

"Yes," Alistair said sourly. " _That's_  what I would have expected." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Look, this man admitted to killing a bunch of people, and we're running out of daylight if we hope to put any distance between ourselves and Lothering before night falls." Alistair looked as though he meant to walk away, but he paused when he saw no one was following.

"Yes," the caged man said calmly. "I suggest you all leave me to my fate."

"To be left here to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn?" Leliana caught Rhianna's wrist. "No one deserves that. Not even a murderer."

"I agree," Morrigan said. "A penitent man left to be torn to pieces by darkspawn. 'Tis a fine example of the Chantry's mercy, is it not?"

Rhianna turned to the man in the cage. "Are you interested in seeking atonement?"

He lifted a brow, as if surprised. No doubt he was; Rhianna had surprised herself by asking the question.

"Death will be my atonement," he responded.

"So be it." The man had murdered children. Innocent children. Perhaps a little boy the same age as Oren.

What did she care for his atonement?

As Rhianna turned to the north, Leliana held fast to her arm. "We cannot just leave him here to die like that. It is wrong."

"Besides," Daveth added, "just look at him. He's even bigger than Arcill was. He must be a warrior, and we're going to need help defeating the Blight. Why not make him join the Grey Wardens, and help us."

"Wait," Alistair sounded confused. "You're not actually suggesting that we . . . what? That we recruit this . . . murderer? He admits to killing an entire family full of people." He turned to Rhianna. "Please, tell me that you aren't thinking about letting him out of that cage to . . . come along with us?"

"He looks like he'd be able to do a great deal of damage to the darkspawn, don't you think?" Morrigan said.

"He looks like he'd be able to do a great deal of damage to  _us_!" Alistair replied, his eyes wide. "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Doesn't everyone deserve a second chance?" Daveth murmured.

"Please, Rhianna," Leliana said. "What do you think?"

What did she think?

And why were they all looking at  _her_? Why did this have to be  _Rhianna's_  decision? When had she become the leader of this little expedition to defeat the darkspawn and end the Fifth Sodding Blight?

Alistair was the senior Warden. Shouldn't he be the one in charge? Clearly, he didn't want to have anything to do with this man to whom the others had mysteriously become attached. So why didn't he put his foot down, and walk away? Why ask Rhianna what she thought? Why did this have to be her decision?

Except he had tried to walk away, hadn't he? And none of the others had followed.

She looked into their faces, each of them in turn. Alistair confused, Leliana and Daveth hopeful, and Morrigan . . . well, Rhianna couldn't guess what was going on in Morrigan's mind. One thing, though, was certain: none of them intended to make the decision. They would wait, all of them, to see what Rhianna had to say. Even Dane looked up at her expectantly.

She knelt down, and looked him straight in the eye.

_What do you think boy?_

He tilted his head to one side. Then he barked once, and shook his hindquarters back and forth furiously.

Apparently, the hound was in favor of sparing the Qunari's life.

Damnit. Rhianna didn't want to make this decision, but if she didn't do it, who would? She didn't want to let a murderer out of his cage, but was it really right to leave him there for the darkspawn?

Exhaustion washed over her. She just wanted to go home. To Highever. To throw herself into her father's arms, and feel his hand stroke the back of her head. To hear her mother's soothing voice. To have Fergus tease her, and see Oren's mischievous grin.

But none of that would happen, not ever again.

Another thought came into her head, perfectly formed: if she made this decision - if she agreed this one time to be the one to decide - she would become their leader from here on out. No one else would ever step up to do it. And, to be fair, of everyone here, she was the best qualified, and possibly the only one of the companions that everyone would agree to follow.

So, what was it to be? Would she lead these people, for good or ill? Or would she toss the question back at them, and let them fight like children trying desperately  _not_  to become "It" in a game of tag?

She glanced once more at her companions, and then down at Dane. More than anything, it was her hound's faith in this man that tipped the balance.

_Maker, please let this be the right decision. And if it's not, well, perhaps you shouldn't have forced me to make it._

"There are ways other than death to redeem yourself," she said to the man.

"Perhaps," he replied. "What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"

"I make no claim to wisdom of any sort. But you could help me defend the land against the Blight."

"The Blight? Are you a Grey Warden then?"

"I am."

"Surprising." He examined her through narrowed eyes, first her face, then down to her feet and back again, as though he were seeing her for the first time. "My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill in battle." He shrugged. "I suppose not every legend is true."

Rhianna raised a brow at the man's implied insult. "Many others have made that mistake - assuming I am no true warrior because of my gender." She paused. "Most of them are dead now."

"Indeed?" Now his brow lifted, as if in disbelief.

She ignored that. "If I let you out of this cage, just how, exactly can you help us?"

"I am Sten of the Beresaad - the vanguard of the Qunari peoples. I know war. If you set me free, I will follow you against the Blight."

"Sten," she repeated, more to herself than to anyone else. "I am Rhianna."

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out her lock picks, and quickly popped open the lock before she could change her mind. They would have to do something about armor and weapons for him, which would likely to be no mean feat. A man his size would need armor much larger than what Rhianna was accustomed to seeing.

That could wait, however. For now, she needed to wrap her mind around what she had just done. Released a murderer from his cage.

"I will follow you into battle, Grey Warden," Sten said, as Rhianna pulled open the door and he stepped from the cage. "In doing so, I shall find my atonement. Or die in its pursuit." He glanced back toward the city proper. "May we proceed? Now that the unexpected has happened, and I am freed from this cage, I find myself eager to be elsewhere."

"Yeah," Daveth agreed. "I say we make tracks before the villagers catch on to what we've done."

They made their way quickly across the field, but as they climbed the steps up to the road that would take them north toward the Bannorn, Alistair stopped and looked back. "You know, this place will be overrun by the darkspawn soon. If we go, we won't be able to come back."

Yes. She knew.

Rhianna stood beside Alistair and let her gaze wander across the town. It really was pretty as a painting from here, with its windmill, and in the distance a lone tree that stood sentry on the hill above the Chantry.

And soon, perhaps within days, the darkspawn would surge up from the south and swallow Lothering whole. All of these people - hundreds and hundreds of them - would die if they weren't able to get out fast enough, which many of them surely would not. All of the things that she could see - the houses, the bridge, Dane's Refuge, the Chantry, even the pretty windmill - would be tainted or destroyed, unfit for humans for Maker knows how long.

Again, anger surged hot inside of her. This would all be destroyed, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Just like there was nothing she could do to stop what had happened in Highever. Or at Ostagar.

It wasn't right. It wasn't  _fair._  Why was any of this even happening? It made no sense at all. Destruction, for its own sake. The darkspawn didn't want the land; they only ruined it and moved on.

She was a Grey Warden now, dammit. That had to be worth something. She hadn't gone through that horrible ritual, drank that foul blood, only to have to sit by, impotent, while one place after another was swallowed up by the Blight.

Somehow, she would find a way to stop this. She wouldn't be able to save Lothering; it was too late for that, and there was no army here, no soldiers, nothing that could stop the darkspawn who were on their way even now.

What she could do, though, was remember. She stood at the top of the wall and she looked down at Lothering, and willed herself to remember how it looked right now. How it felt to know that she was walking away and abandoning these people to their fate. How angry it made her, how horrified she was, and how disappointed in herself. Maybe, when she felt as though she couldn't go on - a feeling that loomed close behind her already - maybe she would remember how angry it made her to walk away from Lothering. Maybe in the next city, she would know what to do, and she would be able to save those people as she could not do here.

The wind whipped through her hair, and she could feel her heart thump in her chest, and she knew the others were waiting, but still she looked down over the village. For the last time.

_Be with them, Andraste, please. I can't save them, so please help them save themselves._

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta readers, Amanda Kitswell, Psyche Sinclair, and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to my wonderful reviewers: KatDancer, Nymra, DarkspawnHorror, Riptide, and Irish_Changeling. 
> 
> And thank you for your patience; this chapter was delayed because I took a bit of a break from writing so I could take (and PASS! YAY!) my oral qualifying exam for my master's degree last Friday. The previous weeks were spent studying frantically, and I spent the weekend coming down from all the stress. :D The good news is that my semester is now OVER for winter break, and I may be able to post a bit more frequently, assuming my muse agrees to go along with this plan.


	20. What it means to be a Grey Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna dreams of the archdemon, and the companions decide where to go after Lothering

**11 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**The Bannorn** _ ****  


‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna stood at the top of canyon and looked down into the valley far below. The air smelt of sulfur, and smoke stung her eyes from what looked like ten thousand torches that dotted the floor of the valley. The dots of light moved and shifted, like a colony of luminescent ants going about their business.

She leaned out to get a better look at what was happening below.

A flash of light pierced the darkness, and a stab of pain shot through her head. She was blinded for a moment as the ground shook, and she stumbled, nearly losing her balance. A deafening roar to her left sent her cringing toward the ground, afraid of an attack she wouldn't be able to see coming.

When her vision cleared, a dragon stood above her on a bridge that spanned the cavernous darkness below.

The archdemon.

Maker's breath, but it was huge, with its long sinewy neck, and broad chest. It had an impossibly long wingspan, and a body that shone dark red and purple. There was no denying, however, that it was beautiful: sleek and graceful, in spite of the dagger-like teeth that jutted out of its mouth at strange angles.

It roared again, and a low rumble rose from the canyon floor, as thousands and thousands of darkspawn cried out in response. A string of unintelligible hissed syllables penetrated her mind.

The archdemon flapped its wings, and then turned its black-eyed gaze upon her. Its eyes widened, as if in recognition.

Did it somehow know who she was? Again, a stream of what had to be words came at her, but none of it made any sense. This time, though, it seemed as though they had been aimed directly at Rhianna, and not at the darkspawn.

The archdemon was trying to talk to her. But why? What could it possibly have to say?

Drawing back its head, it took a deep breath, as though it meant to attack. Rhianna cried out and dove to the side, praying she could avoid a blast of fiery breath or the clamp of strong jaws.

The dragon, however, did not attack. Instead, it shook its head from side to side, rapidly, like a dog trying to shake off raindrops. It roared again, its muzzle pointed toward the sky, and Rhianna could hear frustration and anger, but neither seemed to be directed at her.

It swung its head down and looked directly in her eyes.

 _Shhhhayheseth shriaaahhhh rrreeahhh_ War . . . den _. . . shriiiaa reahhhh_

Two syllables. She had understood just two syllables, one single word, before it again devolved into gibberish.

The archdemon reared up on his hind legs, so tall Rhianna had to crane her neck back to see its head. It roared and released a breath of blue and orange flames.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

She gasped and sat up. The cool breeze against her skin made her shiver. She clutched at the ground, and felt not hard stone, but soft dirt and grass beneath her.

She wasn't underground. There were no darkspawn, and the archdemon wasn't here. It had been a dream. Just a dream.

No surprise there; she'd had nightmares every single night since her Joining ritual. This one, though, had been different. After that very first dream she'd had, where she herself had become a darkspawn, she'd mostly dreamt of darkspawn attacking her, and of fighting and fighting and fighting until she awoke. But tonight . . . the archdemon's frustration had been tangible, and everything had seemed so  _real_ , and then he had spoken to her.

 _Warden_.

Just one word, but it had been so clear.

But why? What was he trying to tell her?

"Bad dreams, huh?" She started at Alistair's voice, and her head snapped in his direction. He sat just a few feet away, on the opposite side of the campfire. "Sorry," he added softly. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just that you were shouting in your sleep. Loudly." He gave an apologetic shrug. "And not in a good, I'm-having-a-private-moment sort of way, either."

"No." She stretched her arms above her head, and yawned. "It wasn't that sort of dream at all. I hope I didn't wake you?"

"No, I'm all right," Alistair said. "To be honest, I haven't been sleeping well myself lately. That's just part of being a Grey Warden: the bad dreams."

"I do remember Duncan saying something about that." She leaned back on her palms, and stretched her neck to one side, and then the other. "When we traveled together, I got the feeling his dreams were utterly terrifying. Now I understand why." She paused. "Although tonight's dream wasn't exactly . . . bad. There were darkspawn, but for once they didn't attack me. I got the feeling the archdemon was trying to . . . talk to me, believe it or not."

"Trying to talk to you?" Alistair lifted a brow. "Are you sure it wasn't just talking to the darkspawn? Grey Wardens can listen when the archdemon speaks to the horde. I think it's connected, somehow, to the way we can sense them, and they sense us in return, and we're especially vulnerable to it when we're asleep. You learn to block it out after a while, but at first it's hard to do. Some of the older Wardens told me they could even understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."

"I did . . ." It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she had understood one single word, but something stopped her. Did she really want anyone to know about that? Now she'd been awake for a few minutes, she wasn't even sure it had really happened. Had he really said "Warden," or had she just imagined it?

Besides, there was something else that bothered her about what Alistair had just said, a idea flitting around the edges of her mind. Something about the darkspawn being able to sense the Wardens . . . but she couldn't quite bring it into focus.

She shook her head to clear it. "Duncan said we can learn to block out the dreams? Is there some . . . trick to that? Some technique I can learn?"

"Sorry, no." Alistair shrugged. "Not a trick, really. As you develop your ability to sense the darkspawn, it just starts being . . . I don't know how to describe it, exactly. Like it's part of you. And even in your sleep, you'll begin to recognize it, and push it away."

"So there's nothing I can do to . . . hurry that process along?"

"Not as far as I know."

Wonderful. She hoped this darkspawn-sensing would hurry up and happen already. She wasn't sure how much longer she could manage on the quality of sleep she'd been getting of late.

"Did you say Duncan had been having bad dreams?" he asked.

"Yes. Horrible ones, just about every night we traveled together." She paused. "He did say it was a recent thing. Does that mean something to you?"

"Yes, actually. Once you reach a certain age, the real nightmares come. That's how a Grey Warden knows his - or her - time has come."

"Time has come? What do you mean?"

"Oh." Alistair sounded a bit sheepish. "That's right. No one ever told you that part, did they?"

That sounded ominous. "Told me what?"

Alistair gave her a reluctant grin. "Well, in addition to all the other wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you don't need to worry about dying from old age. That's another side effect of the Joining: you've got thirty years to live. Give or take. The taint . . . it's a death sentence. Even if it doesn't kill you outright, ultimately your body won't be able to take it."

Strangely, Rhianna wasn't distressed by this news. "Thirty years?" She shrugged. "I doubt I'll make it that long, with this many darkspawn about." Besides, she honestly couldn't imagine what would be happening thirty days from now. Thirty years seemed like a lifetime away. Several lifetimes.

"Good point." He turned, and looked out into the night. "For those who do make it that long, when the time comes, most Grey Wardens head to the Deep Roads for one last glorious battle against the darkspawn. It's tradition, and the dwarves respect us for it. I think . . . I think Duncan was nearing his time. That's why his dreams had gotten so bad recently."

"So he didn't have much longer to live, even if he'd survived the battle?"

"No. Probably not." He paused. "I suppose dying in battle was what he would have wanted, and Ostagar gave him that, at least."

"Perhaps." She looked up at the sky, but it was devoid of stars; clouds had come in and blocked their light. "Is there anything else I should know? Grey Warden secrets you can share?"

"Not really. You've already discovered the increase in appetite, yes? I was watching you wolf down food the other day and I thought, 'It's a good thing she gets a lot of exercise.'"

"Yes," Rhianna replied dryly. "I did notice that."

"That's it, then. Other than dying young, and bad dreams, and the whole we-have-to-defeat-the-Blight-alone thing? No, I'm all tapped out for surprises." He grinned. "And you wondered why we kept the Joining a secret from the new recruits. If people knew all the benefits of being a Grey Warden, everyone would want to join."

"That can't be everything, though." Rhianna wrinkled her nose. "Duncan made it sound as though . . . well, I just wish he'd been more . . . forthcoming with information. I suppose he thought there would be plenty of time after Ostagar for him to explain things."

"I suppose he did." Alistair turned his face away, and his breath hitched in his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Rhianna asked. "About Duncan, I mean?"

"You . . . don't have to do that," he replied. "You didn't know him as long as I did."

"That doesn't matter. He was important to you, that's what matters, and if you want to talk, I'm here. I also understand not wanting to talk, if that's how you feel." She hesitated, and continued in a gentler voice. "But one way or another, you're going to have to find a way through this, and soon. Believe me, I know how tempting it is to lose yourself in grief, but we don't have the luxury of that right now. I can't stop this Blight without you. So, if talking about Duncan would help, well, I'm willing to listen."

"I . . ." He turned back to face her, and his eyes shone in the firelight. "You're right, of course." He sighed. "This is hardly the time to mourn. Besides, I . . . should have handled it better. Duncan warned me right from the beginning that this could happen. Any of us could die in battle, any time. I, well. . . I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize. I just thought . . . maybe talking about him would help."

"Maybe it will." Alistair stared into the fire, and Rhianna waited quietly for him to continue.

"It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I'd been there with him. In the battle. I feel like I abandoned him. Of course I'd be dead then, wouldn't I? It's not like that would have made him happier. It's stupid, isn't it?"

"No," Rhianna murmured. "It's not stupid at all. I felt the same way about leaving Highever. I wanted to stay, and fight."

"Did you say Highever?" Alistair sounded surprised; but surely, he knew Rhianna was from there. She'd mentioned it several times. "I think that's where Duncan was from originally," he added.

"Yes. He told me that, as well."

"I'd like to have a proper funeral for him, but I have no idea what the Grey Wardens do for their . . . when they fall in battle. Maybe I'll go up to Highever sometime, see about putting up some sort of memorial in his honor. I don't know. Maybe once this is all done." He scoffed. "If we're still alive." He let out a long breath, and turned to face her again. "Have you . . . had someone close to you die? Not that I mean to pry or anything. I'm just . . ." His voice trailed off and he looked at her quite earnestly.

What? Was this a joke? She'd told him what happened in Highever, when they were in the Wilds searching for Fergus.

"Don't you remember? My parents, and sister-in-law and nephew were murdered just a few weeks ago. In Highever."

"Oh!" A look of horror crossed his face. "Oh . . . of course. Your whole family, all except your brother. How stupid of me to forget." He rubbed a hand across his face. "Here I am going on and on about Duncan, and you, well you've lost everyone, too . . . I'm so sorry."

"Bad things happen," she shrugged, pushing away her discomfort, "and sometimes there's nothing to do but continue forward. That's what I've been trying to do."

"I suppose that's what I need to do, too, isn't it?"

"Yes. Eventually. When you're ready."

"Thank you." He managed a crooked smile. "Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about him, at least a little." He paused. "Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I'd say something. The dreams were scary for me at first, too."

Rhianna looked toward the horizon; the sky hadn't begun to lighten at all. "I think I might try and get a bit more sleep."

Unless the archdemon had something more to say.

"Good idea," he replied. "I'll do the same."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

The next morning, Rhianna awoke feeling surprisingly rested. Perhaps they had finally traveled far enough from Ostagar for some of the tension she'd carried since the battle to loosen its hold.

Now, of course, the first order of business was to decide where to go next.

"Now that we've left Lothering," Rhianna said over breakfast, "we'll need to decide where we're going from here."

"Well," Alistair's voice was hesitant, "we've got the treaties to pursue, or we could go to Redcliffe . . .? Unless anyone has another idea."

"The treaties are important," Daveth agreed. "But I think first, we should try and contact the rest of the Grey Wardens." He glanced at Alistair and then back to Rhianna. "Not that I don't have total faith in the both of you," he grinned, "but it's a bit daunting, really, being the only three left in all of Ferelden."

"I agree," Rhianna laughed. "It is a bit daunting. Or maybe a lot daunting. And my inclination is the same. We could be at Gherlen's Pass in just a few days, and try to meet up with the Orlesian Wardens there. I'd also like to send messages to the Free Marches, Nevarra, and the Anderfels, as well. To let them know what happened, and that we need some support." She paused. "Or . . . we might consider going to Denerim. Speak with Loghain, and the rest of the Landsmeet, to make sure they know how crucial their support will be in fighting the darkspawn. From there, it would certainly be easy to send out messages, but it's in the opposite direction from the closest Wardens that we know about."

"I prefer the second idea, frankly," Morrigan said. "Go directly to the source. Find this man Loghain, and make peace with him, if such a thing is possible. The rest of this business with the treaties and other Wardens can then be done in safety."

"Oh, yes," Alistair sneered, "let's march into Denerim and have tea and cakes with Loghain. Somehow, I suspect we're not going to be able to just walk around the city, what with bounties on our heads. Only a suspicion, of course."

"You asked for opinions, and I gave mine," Morrigan replied. "If your wish is to come up with reasons why something cannot be done, we might as well sit here until the darkspawn are upon us."

Alistair didn't respond, other than glaring at the witch.

"If we do go to Denerim," Rhianna said, "I promise, we'll have no difficulty getting in to speak with Loghain. He's not our enemy. Somehow he got the wrong idea about the Grey Wardens, but if we just talk to him, we'll be able to work things out. I know Loghain. I've known him my entire life, and he's a good man."

"A good man?" Alistair scoffed. "One who just happened to kill the king. This is why we should go to Redcliffe.  _I_ know Arl Eamon. Once he learns what Loghain did at Ostagar, he won't stand for it. The arl will be the first to call for Loghain's execution for murdering the king."

"Execution?" Rhianna felt as though she had been punched in the gut. "You can't be serious. Loghain didn't murder the king. No one will be calling for his execution, not while there is breath in my body."

Alistair stared at her through narrowed eyes, his lip slightly curled. "I'm right about this," he insisted. "And I have no doubt Arl Eamon will agree."

"Eamon . . ." Rhianna had to struggle not to wrinkle her nose at mention of the man's name. "How do  _you_  know Eamon Guerrin, anyway?"

"I . . ." Alistair hesitated, and looked down at the ground. "I grew up in Redcliffe. At the castle there, as a matter of fact. Until I was ten years old and sent away to begin my templar training."

A reasonable story, but the way Alistair seemed reluctant to meet her eyes suggested there was something more to it.

He chose not to elaborate, though. "All I know is that the arl is a good man, and well loved by the people. He was also the king's uncle, so he has a personal motivation for wanting to see Loghain pay for what he did."

"You mentioned treaties?" Leliana asked, as though deliberately changing the subject. "What exactly do they say?"

"The treaties? Oh . . . of course." Alistair took a breath. "Years ago - well, centuries, really - the Grey Wardens solicited promises from the Circle of Magi, the Dalish elves, and the dwarves of Orzammar. They're all obligated to provide support in the event of a blight."

"That sounds promising!" Leliana glanced around the others. "Perhaps that would be the best place to start?" She turned to Alistair, "Do you have any idea where to look for the Dalish?"

Alistair shrugged. "I seem to recall Duncan saying that if we head eastward towards the Brecilian Forest, we should hear word of one of the clans that wanders the area. Assuming they're still there."

"Did that templar in Lothering not say something about the Circle of Magi?" Morrigan asked. "Some sort of trouble there?"

"Oh. That's right," Rhianna frowned. "He said they'd called for Rite of Annulment. I suppose that means if we hope for help from the Circle, we shouldn't delay in going there."

"Or," Sten said, "perhaps a tower full of out of control magic users is the last place we want to visit."

"That's a good point," Rhianna agreed, "but the mages could prove to be extremely powerful allies against the darkspawn." She paused. "I've got an idea. Gherlen's Pass is basically on the way to Kinloch Hold, if we travel on the west side of Lake Calenhad. Let's head there first, and see if we can contact the Orlesian Wardens, and then we'll go to the Circle to see what's happening with the mages, and hopefully request their assistance. When Duncan and I were there a few weeks ago, the knight-commander balked at allowing mages to leave the Circle, but we didn't have that treaty in hand. Perhaps that will make a difference." She chewed in thought at her bottom lip. "Orzammar is also near the pass, and I like the idea of traveling north before the snows begin to fall. So perhaps we can head there after visiting the Circle."

Sten shrugged, but made no complaint. Everyone else nodded agreeably.

"So that's the plan, then?" Alistair asked. "We go to meet the Wardens, and then to the Circle of Magi and Orzammar?"

"That's what I suggest," Rhianna said. "Although, if you're really set on speaking with Eamon, we could do that instead. I don't know that he'll be in Redcliffe, though, not if Loghain calls a Landsmeet. So, it would probably be best to head toward Denerim."

"I . . . well, I don't know. Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don't know for sure that seeking him out first is the best thing to do." He paused. "I'll . . . I'll just stay with you, whatever you decide."

"Now that is unsurprising," Morrigan drawled.

So Rhianna wasn't the only one who had noticed Alistair's reluctance to make decisions.

Alistair turned on her. "Look, I don't know what would be best, and I'm not going to fight about it. If Rhianna thinks it's more important to find the other Wardens first, that's fine with me."

"All right," Rhianna said, not wanting the two of them to get into another argument. "Let's head west to Oswin, where we can hire a boat to get us to Rainesfere. That will be much faster than walking all the way around the lake. From there, we'll head north."

Besides, she liked the idea of stopping in Rainesfere. That was Teagan Guerrin's bannric, and it would be very good to see a friendly face.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

As the little band of travelers headed west on foot, a pair of knights rode past. One of them rode a horse as black as coal, and Rhianna was reminded, with an ache in her chest, of Faolan.

She'd tried not to think of him at all; it made her sick to her stomach with worry. What if Howe had realized Faolan was Rhianna's mount? Was the man cruel enough to punish her horse out of his hatred of Rhianna herself? And what if someone else had tried to ride him? Faolan trusted very few people, and none of them were currently in Highever. The thought of Faolan suffering at the hands of Howe or his men made her stomach churn.

Please let him have cooperated, or better yet, have escaped.

She was grateful, though, for having two of her companions. Dane, of course, had been with her all along. And the previous evening, not long after they left Lothering, Gwyn had appeared, as if out of nowhere. The hawk called once and dove out of the sky so quickly Rhianna's new companions had been startled. Rhianna had last seen the bird at Ostagar, and was very glad to see her again.

In truth, Rhianna's two animal companions were all she had left of her old life. The only family she had now. Duncan had promised that the Grey Wardens would become her family, but that hadn't happened yet. To be honest, it was difficult to believe it would ever truly happen. Perhaps with Daveth; he was good company, and Rhianna enjoyed his cheerful presence. But Alistair? It wasn't that she disliked him, exactly, but she wasn't sure she  _liked_  him, either. There was something . . . unfinished about him. Something childish in a way that wasn't entirely endearing. Anger still flared up inside her to remember the way he'd incited Loghain's guards to attack, as well as his insistence that Loghain was to blame for Cailan's death. Of course, his grief about what had happened at Ostagar, and losing Duncan in particular, was still fresh. Perhaps once he'd come to terms with all that, things would be different.

Now, he appeared to be in the mood for conversation.

"So, Morrigan," Alistair began. "Let's talk about your mother for a moment." There was something almost gleeful in his tone.

"My mother?"

"Yes. Your mother. Isn't she a scary witch who lives in the middle of a horrible old swamp?"

"That is one interpretation, I suppose. For my part, I would rather talk about  _your_  mother," she replied placidly.

"Oh, no," he laughed. "There's nothing interesting to say about her. She was just a serving girl. You know what's far more interesting than that?" He paused. "Apostates," he continued, in a loud whisper. "Mages outside of the Tower." Alistair grinned, an unpleasant, unfriendly grin. "Much more interesting."

"To you, perhaps." Morrigan gave a long-suffering sigh. "But you would find the moss growing upon a stone interesting."

"That's illegal you know. The templars have the right to cut you down where you stand, just for  _breathing._ "

"Did you read that in a book somewhere?" Morrigan sounded bored, but there was an edge beneath her words, as though she were just a bit shaken. "I hope the small letters did not strain you overmuch."

"I hope we don't run into any templars. Oh wait, we're going to the Circle of Magi, aren't we? I didn't have to read it in a book to know there will definitely be templars there." He chuckled, as though pleased with himself.

"The Qunari have no mages such as you have here," Sten said. Everyone turned to look at him; the huge man had barely spoken three words since Rhianna had released him from the cage.

"There are no magic users among your people?" Leliana asked.

"We have beasts in the shape of men who perform tricks, but we control them to do less harm than yours. They have their tongues cut out and are kept in pens."

Rhianna gasped. Had she heard that correctly? The Qunari cut the tongues out of their mages? She glanced at Morrigan; all the color had drained from the woman's face.

"Don't you think that's a little harsh?" Daveth said, his eyes wide.

Sten shrugged. "As a fish stranded by the tide knows the air, or a drowning man knows the sea, so does a mage know magic."

"What does that mean?" Leliana asked.

"Magic is a curse. A poison that kills all it touches."

"No it isn't," Rhianna argued. "Mages aren't cursed. The magic is just part of who they are. And it's up to each of them to do right with it."

"Except they can't be trusted to do right." Sten replied. "We don't try to control what they are. We control what they do."

"A reasonable approach," Alistair agreed. He seemed more than a little amused by the turn the conversation had taken.

"Is this supposed to make me angry?" Morrigan asked, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly. "Or it is supposed to frighten me?"

"Neither. I merely find myself wishing your people held a proper, civilized attitude toward magic."

This was an uncomfortable revelation. "Sten," Rhianna began, "I don't know what the customs are where you are from, but there will be no more talk of cutting out anyone's tongue." She raised a brow at him. "Is that clear?"

"You would prefer not to acknowledge the danger. An unbound mage is like a wildfire. As prone to consume itself as it is to devour all that surrounds it."

Rhianna shook her head. "There will be no more talk of this," she said firmly.

Sten's expression made it clear he was less than impressed with Rhianna's announcement, but he merely shrugged and fell silent.

Alistair cleared his throat. "So, Sten. Were you really in that cage for twenty days?"

The huge man turned his gaze on Alistair. "It might have been closer to thirty. I stopped counting after a while."

"What did you do all that time?" Leliana asked. "Twenty days is a long time to sit in one place and do nothing."

"On good days, I posed riddles to the passersby, offering them treasures in exchange for correct answers."

Alistair's eyes grew wide. "Did you really?"

Sten blinked slowly. "No."

"Awww." Alistair sounded genuinely disappointed. "Too bad. That's got some serious potential."

Rhianna thought she heard Sten sigh, but when she glanced over at him, his expression remained unchanged.

Maker. It was beginning to look as though traveling with this group of companions would be interesting, to say the least. Perhaps a bit  _too_ interesting.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

As the sun crept toward its midpoint in the sky, and the gnawing ache in Rhianna's stomach had grown almost unbearable for want of a mid-day meal, the companions rounded a bend in the road to see a pair of dwarves being set upon by darkspawn. The creatures had encircled the two men, along with their cart and the oxen pulling it.

Rhianna and the others rushed in to help, and in a very few minutes, the darkspawn had been defeated. The dwarves were, as one might expect, very grateful.

"Mighty timely arrival there, my friend," the older of the two said with an expansive sweep of his arms. "We're much obliged." He had reddish hair, and an elaborately braided beard. "The name's Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur." He gestured to the beardless boy at his side. "This here is my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy."

"Hello." The blond-haired boy gave a wide, cheerful smile.

"Pleased to meet you," she replied. "I'm Rhianna."

"Road's been mighty dangerous these days," Bodahn continued, "what with bandits and wild animals and now darkspawn. Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we're going the same way. I must say I don't mind the idea of traveling up the road a ways with companions as well armed as you happen to be."

"We're on our way to Oswin," she replied, "where we hope to hire a boat to take us to Rainesfere." She bit her bottom lip. "I'm not sure that traveling with us is the safest thing for you, though. We're . . . Grey Wardens, and lately we've seemed to attract a bit of trouble."

"Grey Wardens, hmnh? My, that does rather explain a lot. No offense, but I suspect there's more excitement on your path than my boy and I can handle. Besides, we're heading in the opposite direction. I'm hoping to reach the capital before the snows fall. So, we'll just get this mess cleared off and be on our way."

"You're a merchant, you said?" Rhianna gave a hopeful smile. "I might be interested in trading. There wasn't much in the way of supplies to be had in Lothering."

"Hah!" he laughed. "That I am! And how foolish of me not to have thought to offer you a look at our wares. Come over here, and I'll show you what I've got."

As it turned out, Feddic had a good assortment of things packed away in that wagon of his, and just about everyone found something to their liking. There was splint mail large enough to fit Sten, and leathers for Leliana, who couldn't very well fight darkspawn in a Chantry robe. Daveth bought himself a longbow, as his had been lost at Ostagar. For Alistair, Rhianna bought a new sword and shield to replace the standard Grey Warden issue he'd brought with him. The sword, because it was better quality; the shield, so he would no longer have to wear the Grey Warden insignia on his back, for all to see wherever they went. Only Morrigan didn't find anything that caught her fancy, but when the mage wasn't looking, Rhianna bought a delicate necklace of gold chain, intending to give it to the woman later as a surprise.

For herself, Rhianna bought new leathers. They were beautiful, the thick leather dyed black, with chain mail inset into the cuirass, and scrollwork tooled into the pauldrons and vambraces and poleyns. It gave better protection than the studded leathers she had bought from the quartermaster at Ostagar, and fit her as though it had been made just for her.

Feddic was also happy to take a few items off of Rhianna's hands in trade for the goods she wanted. Things they no longer needed, like Rhianna's old armor and Alistair's sword.

Everyone seemed cheered by their purchases, and they bid the dwarves good day. As the oxen pulled the wagon east, toward Lothering, Rhianna and her companions settled down by the side of the road to have a brief meal.

The others chatted amiably while they ate, as Rhianna gazed out at their surroundings, and let her mind wander. It was beautiful countryside. To the south was a body of water - a finger that branched off of Lake Calenhad - and to the north were the gently rolling hills at the edge of the Bannorn.

Rhianna had never been to Oswin, and looked forward to seeing the town for the first time. Loghain had been born somewhere near here, although she had no idea exactly where, or if the house was even still standing, or if crops still grew in the field where he'd lain beside his mother and looked up at the shooting stars. It was strange, but not unpleasant to think she might be traveling through places he had frequented as a young boy. She didn't dare think more closely on that, though, or risk having her mind go to any number of dark places.

More than anything, she was confused. Did he really believe she had something to do with Cailan's death? That seemed impossible, but he had left guards behind to look specifically for her. Surely, no matter how murderous Alistair believed him to be, Loghain just wanted to talk. And surely, whatever it was she'd done to anger him, he'd be able to forgive her once she had the chance to sit down with him. Especially once she had a better idea of just what she, as a Grey Warden, could do to stop this Blight. He would listen to reason, and they would be able to work together, for the good of Ferelden.

Alistair thought Loghain had murdered Cailan, and Danal, the innkeeper, had mentioned that as well. Was that really something people believed? How could anyone - anyone who knew Loghain at all - believe him capable of such a thing? It was troubling, though, for such rumors to even exist. Maker's balls, how had everything gotten so complicated? The army was supposed to defeat the darkspawn at Ostagar. Even if it wasn't possible in a single battle, surely, if they'd just kept at it, they'd have held back the horde. But everything had gone wrong, and nothing made sense anymore. People seemed determined to place blame: either the Grey Wardens killed Cailan, or Loghain had been responsible for the king's death. She knew neither of those things was true. The  _darkspawn_  had killed Cailan, plain and simple. But things were beginning to spin out of control, and Rhianna was scared and unsure of what to do next.

She was also troubled by the appearance of darkspawn this far north; it was the first they'd seen of the creatures since Ostagar. Even though there had only been a few of them - half a dozen - the fact they were here raised a number of questions. Had the horde begun to move north? Or were these merely a lone group, or scouts perhaps, like the darkspawn Rhianna and Loghain had seen in the Bannorn a year ago?

Either way, it was chilling to think that darkspawn might appear anywhere, at any time, and attack innocent people - travelers, merchants, farmers. Of course, that's what happened during a Blight, wasn't it? It might well be impossible to predict where the darkspawn would turn up next.

All the more reason to find other Grey Wardens, and gather the support of as many allies as possible. She also needed to talk to Loghain, but could only be in one place at a time. Perhaps she'd write to him and explain what had happened in the Tower of Ishal. Ease his mind, if not about the Grey Wardens in general, but about Rhianna and her companions, at least.

The good cheer she had felt after talking with the dwarves was beginning to fade, but Rhianna was determined to cling to it as long as possible. So, she pushed thoughts of Loghain and the Blight away, and set her mind on Rainesfere, instead. This was another place she had never visited before, and she'd heard only wonderful things about it. Best of all, she would be able to see Teagan. His friendly face, his warm smile. No matter what others might choose to believe, Teagan would know Rhianna could never have had anything to do with the death of the king. She would throw herself into his arms, and he would kiss her cheek. Then they would sit beside a fire and talk, and perhaps, for a few hours at least, everything would feel  _normal_  again. It would be such a welcome respite from the strange, surreal tapestry her life had become since Howe attacked Highever Castle and the darkspawn had risen in the south. She also felt certain that a warm, soft bed would be offered to her and her companions, and she had every intention of taking advantage of whatever hospitality Teagan would offer.

Yes. More than anything, right now she wanted to see the smiling face of the Bann of Rainesfere.

Morrigan's voice brought Rhianna out of her thoughts.

"I have a wonder, Alistair, if you will indulge me." The woman's voice carried a lilt that Rhianna already recognized meant trouble.

He wrinkled his nose. "Do I have a choice?"

Morrigan plowed ahead. "Of the three of you that remain, are you not the senior Grey Warden here?" She arched a brow. "I find it curious that you allow another to lead, while you follow."

"Oh, you find that curious, do you?" He crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

"In fact," Morrigan continued, "you defer to a new recruit. Is this a policy of the Grey Wardens? Or simply a personal one?"

"What do you want to hear? That I prefer to follow?" He glared at the witch. "Well, I do. Is there something wrong with that?"

"Did I say there was anything wrong with it?" Morrigan's tone was deceptively gentle. "I was just asking a question, but now . . . well, you sound so very defensive." A smug smile played at one corner of her mouth.

"Defensive? Oh, I can't imagine why." He turned his body, so his back was to the mage. "Couldn't you crawl into a bush somewhere and die? That would be great, thanks."

As Morrigan chuckled unkindly, Rhianna stood, put her remaining rations in her pack, and prepared to start walking again. It appeared as though everyone had finished their meal, and if sitting around would encourage more awkward conversations like this, better to get back on the road as soon as possible.

Of course, Morrigan did have a point. So, when Alistair headed off at a brisk pace, clearly wanting to put distance between himself and the witch, Rhianna hurried after him.

"Alistair! Wait!"

He turned, his brow creased as though surprised to see Rhianna approach. He did stop, though, and seemed more than willing to wait for her to catch up. When she had, they started walking again, side by side.

"Thank you. For waiting."

"Of course. Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes, actually. I was just wondering, did something happen between you and Morrigan? Back at Flemeth's, I mean, when I was recovering?"

"What do you mean? What sort of thing?"

"I don't know. It just seems as though the two of you got off on the wrong foot, and I thought perhaps you had an argument or something, that I don't know about?"

"Argument?" He shrugged. "No. She's just a miserable harpy, as far as I can tell."

Rhianna lifted a brow at that; yes, it was true Morrigan wasn't kind to him, but Alistair had started as many arguments as she had. Rather than pointing that out, though, Rhianna switched to a different topic.

"She does have a point though," Rhianna began carefully. "You  _are_  the senior Warden. Wouldn't it make more sense for you to be the leader of our little band? After all, in six months with Duncan and the other Wardens, you must have gotten some idea of how things are supposed to work."

"What? Don't you want to be the leader? You're rather bos- . . . well, you don't seem to mind telling people what to do. And you're smart, and you have a way of getting people to like you. It's almost as though people  _want_  to do what you tell them. I'm, well, I'm just not good at anything like that. People usually don't want to listen to me at all, let alone do what I'm asking of them."

"This isn't about me, Alistair. I don't mind being the leader, if it comes to that, but you're the one with experience being a Warden. You must know things, things I don't. Things that would make a difference when making decisions." She paused. "For example, I don't have any idea how to kill the archdemon. It is just a dragon that will die if we hit it enough times? Or is there something special about it?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "I really did tell you everything this morning, everything I could think of. I don't have any special knowledge that will help us. Besides, I'm afraid that . . ." His voice trailed off.

"You're afraid . . . of what?"

"Well . . ." His shoulders slumped. "It's just that the last time I made a decision, it turned out badly. Really, really badly."

"The last time you made a decision? What decision? What are you talking about?"

He glanced at her face, and then looked away again. "When you wanted to run ahead and light the beacon at the Tower of Ishal? Do you remember?"

"Yes." Of course she remembered; if there was one thing she could do over again, that would be it. She'd have run ahead, regardless of Alistair's refusal. And she'd have sent Dane to Loghain, to carry the message in case the beacon never got lit.

"Well, I told you not to. And I'm not saying that I wish I'd given you permission, because I'm pretty sure that if I had, you'd be dead now. That ogre was . . . nasty." He took a deep breath. "But I can't help but wonder: if you'd been successful, if you had been able to light the beacon sooner . . . maybe Duncan would still be alive. And King Cailan, and a lot of others." Now, he turned to face her again, almost cringing. "Please don't be upset with me. I'm not saying I wish they were alive and you were dead. I'm really not saying that at all. I'm glad you're alive, and that you're here, and that we're doing this together. All I'm saying is that . . . well, the last time I actually made a decision, things went very, very wrong. So maybe we'll all be better off if someone else is in charge. If you're in charge."

Oh.

"Alistair," she said as gently as she knew how, "Duncan's death is not your fault. You know this, right? The darkspawn killed Duncan. Just like he knew might happen. Remember what you told me this morning? That Duncan knew he could die - that any of us could die - at any moment? That's what it means to be a Grey Warden. That's what it means to be a soldier of any sort."

"I know that. But if we'd lit the beacon sooner . . ." His hands clenched into fists. "If we'd lit the beacon on time, so many people might still be alive, and the darkspawn might have been defeated." Again, his shoulders sagged. "Just . . . well, can't we just leave it at this? I don't want to be the leader, and you're good at it, so can't that just be the way it's going to be? I'll do whatever you ask, go wherever you think it's best for us to go. Just don't ask me to make any important decisions."

She let out a breath. "Fair enough."

If he didn't want to do it, she wasn't going to force him. Besides, she trusted her own judgment better than his. At this point, she trusted her own judgment better than anyone else's. Perhaps that was arrogant, but she didn't care. She'd had enough of other people forcing her to do things. Now, she'd still do things she didn't want to do, but at least she would have made those decisions for herself.

 

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Amanda Kitswell, Psyche Sinclair, and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, DarkspawnHorror, Riptide, KatjaLaRoux, and Nymra. 
> 
> Wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season. I do have a little holiday story I intend to post later in the week, and there will be a new addition to "Glimpses into the Darkness" as well, so keep an eye out for those. :)


	21. We will pull through this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain brings Anora the news of what happened in the south.

****_15 August, 9:30 Dragon  
_ **_Denerim_ ** ****_  
_

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain marched into Denerim, his heart heavy. There was no part of him that was glad to be back in the capital. He had never particularly liked the city to begin with, but now, everything about it gave him something to dread. Especially the visit he intended to make first, to Anora. His upcoming reunion with his daughter weighed heavily upon him, considering the news that he brought. This was something that could not wait, though - she deserved to hear the truth from his lips as soon as possible. So, after a brief stop at the Gwaren estate to change out of his armor, he made his way to the palace.

He found his daughter in her private quarters. She sat by the window, her back to the open door as she looked out into the garden. He tapped softly on the doorjamb to get her attention.

When she turned, her face was a mask of calm. Her eyes were bright, but not bloodshot or puffy. Her expression was as collected as always, and not a single hair on her head was out of place, but there was a tension in shoulders and in her jaw that told him rumors of what happened on the battlefield had already reached her.

Her eyes met his, and some of the tension melted away.

"Father?" The barest hint of a smile crossed her face. "Tell me you bring good news. The rumors we've heard . . . they're awful. Tell me none of it is true." She paused. "Please?" Her lips fell apart, and her eyes widened slightly. She looked so young, so vulnerable.

Blessed Andraste. She still had some hope that Cailan was alive.

How could he do this? How could he tell her that her husband was not coming home?

Delaying the inevitable, however, served no purpose. He stepped all the way into the room, and closed the door behind him.

"Norrie."

Just one word, and the last shards of her hope shattered.

A shudder ran through her, and she took in a breath. "Don't call me that." Her lower lip trembled, almost imperceptibly. "I'm not a little girl anymore. These days you only call me that when something is wrong."

"Anora." Loghain took a breath, and released it slowly. "I'm . . . sorry."

"Then it's true." She blinked. "We heard rumors that the battle had been lost, and the army destroyed. I didn't want to believe it, but . . . is it true, then? Cailan . . . and the rest of the army? They're all dead?"

"It's true. I still have my Gwaren men, and half of Maric's Shield, but everyone else . . ."

Anora turned to look out the window again. "I can't . . . I just can't believe he's gone." She paused. "I loved him. I'm not sure I even liked him anymore, after all the things he's done. But I loved him. I still loved him so much." One of her hands balled into a fist, but then she unfurled her fingers, and gripped the arm of her chair. "He was so stupid! So bloody stupid, but I never expected something like this." She glanced at her father, and then back into the garden. "What happened? How did he die?"

"He insisted on fighting on the front lines."

She snapped her head toward Loghain and studied his face. "He insisted? Weren't you the one who devised the battle plan? Why didn't you just  _insist_ otherwise?"

"I tried." Loghain crossed to a chair, and dropped himself into it. "I swear to you, I tried. But he was convinced this was his chance to become . . . a legend. To be the hero of a glorious battle the bards would sing about for centuries. He refused to entertain any strategy that didn't involve fighting alongside the Grey Wardens."

"The Grey Wardens?" Her tone was bitter. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. From the moment Duncan appeared in Denerim last year, after you and Rhianna encountered darkspawn in the Bannorn, Cailan was obsessed."

"Yes, he was. And he believed they would keep him safe. Believed they had almost magical abilities to defeat the darkspawn, and he would be there to see it. Perhaps make the final blow, should the archdemon appear. And they encouraged him. Or, they didn't discourage him, at any rate."

Anora laughed, a short, barking sound. "Cailan was so  _stupid_." A breath caught in her throat. "He probably thought griffons would fly down and save him if things got bad." She rubbed at her temples. "What of the battle itself? Was there no chance of winning?"

"No." He paused. "In hindsight, I don't believe there was. I had my soldiers apart from the rest; we were meant to flank the darkspawn when the horde had fully committed. I waited for a signal, a beacon to be lit after the horde had taken the field, but it was . . . very late in coming. There were far more darkspawn than any of us had anticipated, and by the time the beacon was lit, it was likely that Cailan . . . that the army had already been defeated. So I chose to retreat, rather than throw more lives away on a battle that had been lost."

"I'm sure that was the right thing to do." She closed her eyes, briefly. "Bloody Cailan. He was so ridiculous." She shook her head. "I can't . . . I can't believe I'll never hear him blather on about ridiculous things ever again. I'll never hear him blather on about . . . about . . . anything, ever again."

She turned her face away again, and her shoulders hitched, just once, and Loghain's heart broke for the way his daughter's life had been shattered. Time and time again, shattered. She'd lost so much: her sister, her mother, Maric, and now her husband.

Even so, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen her cry. Not at Maric's wake, nor at Celia's. Anora must have cried after the death of her mother, but Loghain had been in Denerim when it happened. By the time he made it to Gwaren, Anora had done all the grieving she intended to do, at least in front of others.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen his daughter cry about much of anything, ever. She hadn't even cried over skinned knees when she was small. Instead, she'd always gotten back up and brushed herself off, angry at the ground for daring to challenge her. Celia told him once that Anora had been upset over the way she was teased by the children of the other nobles, but again, Loghain himself never saw any of those tears. At a very early age, she'd learned to keep everything inside, not let anyone see how much she was hurting. Sometimes, it was easy to convince himself that her stoic calm meant she wasn't hurting, at all. But that wasn't true.

Like father, like daughter. He'd always been proud of her for this strength. But now, it hurt him to think how much she'd held inside, and the various ways that must have made her life more painful, more difficult than it might otherwise have been.

Like father, like daughter.

And now, Loghain was all she had left. Perhaps that was the saddest thing of all. He was hardly worthy of her. No matter how much he loved her, he had little idea how to help her through any of this. Should he cross the room and hold her in his arms? That's what he wanted to do, but he wasn't sure she would welcome his comfort.

How was it possible he didn't know his own daughter well enough to judge this one crucial thing? With Rhianna, the decision would have been easy; she had always wanted to be held. But Anora . . . he honestly didn't know.

He took a deep breath. Perhaps she wouldn't want his comfort, but what if she did? What if she just didn't know how to ask? He had failed his daughter in so many ways; he would not risk failing her now. Better to have her push him away than for him to have not even tried.

He crossed the room and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, but no tears stained her cheeks. Her lower lip quivered, and she stared up at him, as if surprised to find him beside her.

Then she stood, and threw her arms around him, and clung to him tightly. He hesitated for the space of a breath, not sure what to do next. Then, he wrapped his arms around her, and held her. She trembled against him, and then her shoulders began to shake, and he held his daughter while she cried.

When she pulled away from him, she looked up and met his gaze. Her eyes were a deeper blue than usual, and tears clung to her lashes, and her expression was one of such profound sadness he found it difficult not to look away. He held her gaze, though; he owed her that much at least.

"What am I going to do without him?"

"You're going to grieve, for a time. And then do what you've always done." He put a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed, gently. "Rule Ferelden."

She nodded, and let out a slow breath. "Yes. I do intend to keep my throne." She paused. "I know there are some who would rather see me gone, sent back to Gwaren in disgrace, but I won't allow that to happen."

"Nor will I," Loghain assured her. "You will keep your throne, I promise."

She nodded, and walked over to the window, once again looking down at the garden that still held splashes of color here and there, flowers that had not yet succumbed to the cool autumn weather.

"I want to have a funeral for Cailan. Soon, I mean. In the next couple of weeks, as soon as it can be arranged."

"We were . . . unable to bring back his body," Loghain said gently.

"That doesn't matter. I just . . . I don't want this to be like it was with Maric. Putting it off, and putting it off, and never being able to make a real start at grieving for two whole years." She shook her head. "No. I want Cailan sent off properly. As soon as possible."

"As you wish. I'll see to all the arrangements."

"Thank you." She let out a slow breath, and Loghain sensed she was ready to have some time alone, to deal more thoroughly with her grief.

"I'm going to go now," he said. "I have a few other things to see to. Naming a new commander for Maric's Shield, for one."

"Conall is dead?"

"Yes. At Ostagar."

"Maker," she breathed, and closed her eyes briefly. "All right. But I'll see you later, yes? Come back this evening, and we'll dine together."

"I'd like that, yes."

"Good." She paused. "And thank you for coming. For bringing the news to me yourself."

"Of course. I only wish the news I'd had to bring had been . . . better."

‹›‹O›‹›

When Loghain left the palace, he did not turn west, toward the Gwaren estate, but instead headed south along the road that led to Fort Drakon. As he had told Anora, the commander of Maric's Shield died at Ostagar, and Loghain needed to choose someone to replace the man who had served in that position for nearly a decade.

Well, in truth Loghain didn't have to choose; when Conall had not been among the few survivors to turn up, Loghain knew right away whom he would name as the new commander.

At the fort, he gave the order for everyone onsite to gather in the practice hall in fifteen minutes' time. Then he made his way upstairs, to the room kept for his use.

When he unlocked the door, he found himself unable to step into the room right away. Even standing at the threshold brought back a powerful memory, enough to make his head swim, of the evening he'd spent here with Rhianna. The hearth, where they'd sat together, and he'd slid the gown from her shoulders. The bed where he'd laid her down at his side, and marveled at her beauty as she'd asked him, "please." The look on her face during her climax, and the way her body had moved with his, her legs wrapped around him and her hands clutching him tightly. How perfectly she fit against him after their lovemaking, and the shy little smile on her lips when she'd asked if they could do it again.

He had been so much in love with her that night. He'd been so much in love with her for months, and Maker help him but he'd never stopped loving her. Probably, he never would stop. If only she were here now, and they could sit together, and talk. Perhaps there was some explanation for everything - for how long it had taken to light the beacon, and why she had agreed to spend the night in Cailan's arms. Perhaps the king had coerced her, forced himself on her somehow . . .

No. As much as Loghain would have loved blaming everything on Cailan, that seemed unlikely. Rhianna was a warrior, more than capable of fending off the king, if it came to that.

What Loghain really wanted was to go back in time and rewrite some of the things that had happened between them. To have had more time with her before everything fell apart. To prevent what happened in Highever. To have been the one to spend that last night before the battle with her. Better still, to have married her, and taken her to Gwaren where she would have been safe from Duncan and the machinations of the Wardens. Safe from the Orlesian empress, and away from whatever temptation Cailan had offered.

He didn't even know for certain if she was still alive.

Damn. He didn't have time for these musings. Best to push thoughts of Rhianna aside, and do what he'd come here to do.

From a rack on the wall, he retrieved a huge two-handed sword: the Summer Sword. It had been Rhianna's idea, in fact, that he find someone who could use it. It really was too fine a weapon to rest dormant upon a wall.

Today, the sword would find its way into the hands of its new owner.

When he returned downstairs, he stood before what remained of Maric's Shield. He gazed across the grim, unsmiling faces of his soldiers. The past few weeks had been miserable for each and every one of them.

"Today," he began, "we mourn the loss of a great many of our fellows."

A soft murmur of agreement passed through the gathering.

"Every one of us standing here today lost someone we care about. A friend, a brother or sister, a lover. And all of us lost our king. We cannot," he spoke more loudly, "afford to take time to grieve, not when threats still plague this land, but those who were lost will not be forgotten. We will honor their memory and their sacrifice by standing firm against the dangers Ferelden still faces: in the south, the darkspawn horde, and Orlesian chevaliers to the west."

Another, louder murmur of approval.

"I cannot predict what the future will bring," he continued, "but I fear our path will not be easy. There is one thing, however, I know for certain: together we are strong. Together, we can accomplish anything we set our minds to, so long as we are united in our purpose!"

Cheers, and scattered applause.

He turned his gaze on the tall, dark-haired woman who had stood by him through everything that had happened, for so many years now.

"Ser Cauthrien. May I ask you to please step forward?"

She blinked, her brow creased, and she looked around, as though not sure he'd really meant to address her. Then she strode up and came to stand before him.

"As you know, Commander Conall was lost at Ostagar. It is my wish that you take his place as the commander of Maric's Shield. If you are willing to do so."

"My lord?" Her eyes widened slightly, and her shoulders straightened. "I would consider it the highest honor. And yes, I am willing."

"Thank you." In a voice that carried throughout the hall, he continued, "Ser Cauthrien, do you swear to defend the Crown of Ferelden at all cost?"

"I so swear." Her voice trembled, slightly.

"Do you swear to uphold the laws of this land?"

"I so swear," she repeated, her voice steady now.

"And do you swear to fulfill most faithfully your duties to your Queen?"

She held Loghain's gaze, unflinchingly. "I so swear."

"So be it." He presented to her the Summer Sword, making a mental note to tell her the weapon's history later. "Bear this sword with strength, and so dispose your heart to goodness that you never use it to injure anyone unjustly, but always use it to defend the Crown, with mercy and with justice."

Her hands trembled, as she took the sword from him. "That I will do, my lord, and gladly."

"Then turn and greet those now in your command," Loghain said, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

When she turned, a heartfelt cheer rose up from those assembled. Loghain had chosen well; they would follow her without hesitation. He felt a flush of pride for this glorious young woman.

A vision flashed through his mind of a scrawny teenage girl, her unkempt hair blowing in the wind, dirt staining her cheeks as she threw herself at a bandit. How different now was the woman who stood before him: a skilled warrior, a steadfast patriot whose loyalty was above question. A woman of strength and honor, and yet within her still lived the spark she'd had as a girl, the spark that had first drawn Loghain's attention. He would never regret recruiting her that day, nor any of the years that followed when he'd helped shape her into the person she had become.

Loghain had failed a great many people in his life, but Cauthrien, at least, was not one of them.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

By late afternoon, Anora had regained control of herself, thankfully, and felt certain she could get through dinner with her father without bursting into ridiculous tears again. She'd bathed, and gone for a walk in the garden, and tried to distract herself by feeding the ducks in the pond. She'd done this now and again ever since that evening she'd come upon her father and Rhianna at the duck pond. It always made her smile, and today had been no exception. Something about the way they bobbed about on the water, and snapped so furiously for the food, but then went right back to swimming calmly as soon as they were done.

Watching them glide back and forth had calmed Anora, given her something to keep in mind as she returned to the palace, where she would have to face people, sooner or later. She would glide through her day, just like the ducks on the placid calm of the pond, and no one would ever guess at the turmoil just below the surface.

Cailan was dead.

What she'd said to her father was true: she hadn't even  _liked_  him anymore. Her fondness, the amused affection she'd felt for him throughout most of their lives together, had faded somewhere around the third time she'd discovered one of his "little affairs," as he liked to call them. But she had never stopped loving him. His good-natured smile, the taut muscles of his chest, the funny way his mind worked, flitting from thing to thing seemingly at random, except his thought process was never truly random. There was always a thread, if you looked hard enough. She'd loved his hands, his long, graceful fingers, and they way they'd caressed her skin. She'd loved the way his laughter brightened a room; even when she was angry with him, she had never grown immune to that laughter.

Laughter she would never hear again. Blue eyes that would never again stare into hers, so earnest, as he declared his love. And he had loved her. He  _had_. She believed that with her entire heart. Perhaps he hadn't had it in him to be faithful, but that didn't mean he'd stopped loving her.

Now he was gone, and she was alone. Alone, in a way she never expected to be. Alone in a way she might never be able to escape. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to trust anyone again, let anyone close. Even with Cailan, she kept to herself a great deal. That had always been her habit, and it served her well. Kept her safe. But she'd never been truly alone, not while he was near. He had been the one constant in her life, as far back as she could remember. She'd always known she would be his wife, and he'd always been kind to her, treated her so gently. Looked at her as though she was the most beautiful woman in all the world. Held her in the middle of the night, when she lay miserable after her monthly blood had returned, yet again, and she knew she had not conceived the child they both wanted so very much. Even when they'd begun to drift apart, it seemed unfathomable that a time could come when he wouldn't be there for her when she really needed him.

But now, that time had come. And she genuinely didn't know what she was going to do without him.

Heat rose up behind her eyes, but she blinked it back. She wouldn't cry. Not again. Not now. Certainly not anywhere another person could see, not even her father. Although, it had felt good – very good – to be wrapped up in his arms, even if only for a few minutes. To feel his love, to know he was there for her.

Even so, her father was right. She needed to put this behind her, and focus on the future. Ferelden needed a strong ruler to carry her through this crisis, and defeat the darkspawn before they ravaged the land. That's what Anora would focus upon. Anora would save Ferelden and in doing so, save herself, as well.

When her father arrived, they dined together, just the two of them, in Anora's study. As they ate the roast pheasant and asparagus, she could feel his eyes on her, and a gentle crease marred his forehead. He was worried about her, that much was clear, and it felt . . . strange. Not that he hadn't worried about her before; of course he had. But somehow, this felt different. As though he thought her fragile in some way she had never been before.

Perhaps he was right. When she stopped long enough to actually  _feel_  the things inside of her, there was an emptiness there held back by something thin and brittle and glassy. Something likely to shatter into thousands of tiny shards if she handled it roughly, or looked at it too closely. She was scared to think of what might happen if that emptiness managed to break through.

Still, he didn't coddle her, or offer pity. He merely sat with her, and she was grateful for the strength of his presence.

"You said that you were able to retreat with all your Gwaren troops, and part of Maric's Shield?"

"Yes," he replied. "A total of about two thousand soldiers." He let out a sigh. "Which is not going to be nearly enough, considering the horde numbers at least ten thousand now. Maybe more." He paused. "Although they took losses at Ostagar, as well, but . . . I wish we knew more about how they . . . reproduce. Or what their numbers might be like underground. I honestly have no way of knowing how many of them we're actually facing now." He leaned back in his chair. "We had a good tactical position at Ostagar. I should never have agreed . . ." He shook his head. "Well, that's not important now. What matters is finding a way to assess the situation, and building a new army to defend against the horde."

"There are still nobles who have their regular armies," Anora said. "Surely, once they're gathered together, we'll have an force capable of taking on the darkspawn."

"Perhaps. But we'll need to recruit soldiers from among the populace as well."

"Of course. You know you'll have my full support in that. And I will write to our neighbors for help. The Free Marches. Antiva. Nevarra, if they can be persuaded to send troops while they're at war with Orlais."

"We'll need to call a Landsmeet, as well," he suggested. "And have you confirmed as queen, as soon as possible."

"Yes." She paused. "You don't think anyone will put themselves forward, do you? I haven't heard any other names bandied about, but when Eamon arrives, I expect that might change. He never wanted me on the throne in the first place. He'll probably see this as an opportunity to be rid of me for good."

"Don't worry about Eamon," he said slowly. "I've . . . taken care of that situation, for the time being anyway."

Taken care of the situation? Anora lifted a questioning brow.

"I found a 'tutor' for the Guerrin boy," Loghain shrugged. "An apostate with more than ample motivation to ingratiate himself into the household, and make certain Eamon will be too ill to travel to Denerim any time soon."

"Eamon will be too ill? From poison? Or some sort of magic?"

"The former. A poison that can be reversed later, once your rule has been confirmed."

Interesting, although not what Anora would have recommended, had he asked her beforehand.

"Are you sure that was wise? Leaving him alive? He did try to kill you, after all, not long ago." And succeeded in killing Uthalas, for which Anora would never forgive the man. "And if he ever learns you ordered this mage to poison him, I can't imagine he'll let that go quietly."

"True, but we may need him, eventually. He still has all his men. Cailan never summoned either of his uncles to Ostagar, and we may need those soldiers to fight the darkspawn. Besides, I . . . well, sneaking someone in to murder the man in his own house . . . it just didn't sit right with me."

"Fair enough. Although he had no qualms about murdering you." She shrugged. "It makes little difference to me, I suppose, so long as he doesn't turn up here believing he has some claim to the throne by virtue of having been Rowan's brother."

"He isn't going to turn up, not until you've been crowned. Even so, I think in the interim, it would be wise for me to act as regent."

"Regent?" Anora lifted a brow. "Do you really think that's necessary? I'm not sure this sends the right message. I can't have the nobility believing I've handed over the reins to you, or they'll think me too weak to rule on my own."

"It's not about that, not at all. I just want to make certain they see that, together, we are doing everything that must be done to deal with the threat of the darkspawn. And, until you're confirmed, we must be alert to the possibility that someone else will put themselves forward for the throne."

Anora's brow wrinkled. "You're worried about that? Even with Eamon out of the way?"

"I . . . don't know." Something about the way he hesitated gave Anora pause. Perhaps he did anticipate some sort of trouble. "I just think," he continued, "that we would be foolish not to be prepared for the worst."

She bit her bottom lip. "All right. Whatever you think best." If there was something important, no doubt he would tell her. She put down her fork, and took a sip from her wine glass. "It seems there are other troubles in Ferelden, in addition to the darkspawn. There are rumors that something happened in Highever. Apparently, the elves in the Alienage rioted, but I haven't heard anything that resembles an accurate report. It all sounds very far-fetched, but I fear for the Couslands nonetheless. Have you heard anything about it?" She paused. "Bryce was at Ostagar, wasn't he? Or did the troubles happen only after he left Highever?"

Her father's eyes darkened, a deep furrow formed across his brow, and a muscle in his cheek twitched, once.

A flutter of fear erupted in Anora's chest.

"There were no there were no elven riots." He paused. "The Couslands were murdered. Betrayed by Rendon Howe."

"What?" Had she misheard him? "Murdered? That can't be right."

"I know it sounds implausible, but it's true. I heard the story directly from Rhianna. She was there the night it happened, and only barely escaped with her life."

"Rhianna? When did you see her?"

"At Ostagar. She had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens, and she's the one who brought news of what happened in Highever. Rendon Howe attacked the castle in the middle of the night, and murdered the family."

"No. That can't be right. You must have misunderstood." She forced herself to breathe through the wave of panic that washed over her.

Loghain shook his head. "There's no misunderstanding. After Fergus marched south toward Ostagar with Highever's soldiers, Howe's men attacked the castle, in the middle of night. He'd planned to murder everyone in their sleep, but Rhianna managed to escape." He paused. "Bryce and Eleanor are both dead, though, as are Fergus' wife and son."

Bryce and Eleanor were dead? The meal Anora had just eaten threatened to come back up again, and she clutched at the wooden arms of her chair, to steady herself.

Eleanor had been . . . well, Anora had always looked up to the teyrna. Eleanor was unfailingly kind, and had helped Anora navigate the pitfalls of the Denerim court when she was young, since Anora's mother chose to stay in Gwaren. No other woman at court had ever reached out to Anora in any way that wasn't obviously self-serving, but Eleanor had been wonderful. Had offered genuine affection and, later, friendship. The thought that she was dead . . .

"No." She took a breath. "Not Eleanor. And little Oren. I don't understand." She squeezed her eyes shut, until the heat behind them faded. She did not want to cry. Not again. Not today. If she started to cry again now, she feared that the brittle calm she had managed thus far truly would shatter. "How could Rendon Howe have done such a thing? He was Bryce's friend."

"I honestly do not know, Anora." His voice was deeper than usual, and his shoulders slumped. It was clear this weighed heavily on him, as well. "All I can say is that Howe will not get away with this treachery."

"No." Anora sat up straighter. "No, he won't." Another breath, until she was certain she could speak without her voice shaking. "What of Rhianna? How awful this whole thing must have been for her. To lose her family like that. She must have been devastated."

"Yes," he murmured, and his eyes grew dark again. "She was."

"You said she escaped and you saw her at Ostagar. Where is she now?" A breath caught in her throat. "She wasn't in the battle, was she? Don't tell me that she died, too, at Ostagar."

Her father held up his hands, in a gesture of calm. "Rhianna was at Ostagar, but she didn't fight in the battle. As far as I know, she's still alive."

Anora's eyes narrowed, as panic rose up inside her again.

"What do you mean, 'as far as you know?' Where is she? Why didn't you bring her back to Denerim with you?"

He flinched, slightly, at the question. "I wasn't with her during the battle." His voice almost seemed to tremble, as though it were difficult for him to remain calm. "As I said, Rhianna was conscripted into the Grey Wardens, and she was the one tasked with lighting the beacon. The beacon that was only lit after the battle had been lost. Afterwards, well, I don't know exactly what happened to her, but I do have reason to believe she's still alive."

Thank the Maker. "What reason?"

"A report that a pair of Grey Wardens did manage to survive, and I believe Rhianna is one of them. As well as . . . well, a mutual friend saw her hound, and he seemed to indicate that Rhianna hadn't been killed."

"Blessed Andraste, I hope that's true." Anora's brow wrinkled. "Did you say Rhianna is a Grey Warden? How did that come about?"

"Duncan was in Highever on the night Howe's men attacked. He helped Rhianna escape, but the cost was that he conscripted her into the order."

"She was conscripted? Against her will?"

Loghain nodded.

"I suppose I'm not really surprised," Anora said. "The Warden Commander did strike me as ruthless in that way. And Rhianna will have plenty to do now as a Grey Warden, won't she? Maker knows we'll need them." She looked into his eyes. "How are we going to fight the darkspawn with most of the army gone?"

"We'll manage, Anora. I promise. We'll recruit more soldiers, from anywhere we can get them." He shrugged. "Winter is coming, and perhaps that will work in our favor. I think the darkspawn spend most of their time below ground, so perhaps the snow will keep them from coming to the surface, and give us time to raise a new army." He paused. "Of course, the darkspawn aren't our only problem. We're going to have to keep an eye on Orlais. There are four legions of chevaliers on the other side of Gherlen's Pass. A 'gift' from the empress, along with the two hundred Grey Wardens Duncan requested. We can't trust any of them, so I've sent Gwaren men to secure the border, to ensure they don't make it across."

"They? Meaning the chevaliers, or the Grey Wardens?"

"Both."

"But we need the Grey Wardens, especially now. They're the ones who best know how to fight darkspawn."

"Not judging by their performance at Ostagar." He frowned. "I don't trust them. And neither should you."

A crease formed along her brow. "Why not?"

He leaned back in his chair. "I'm not entirely sure the Grey Wardens weren't responsible for Cailan's death. Deliberately, I mean."

"What makes you say that?"

"The king fought on the front lines with the Wardens, which would have given them ample opportunity if they wanted to get him out of the way." He hesitated. "And there's the matter of the signal beacon that wasn't lit until after the battle had already been lost."

"I thought you said Rhianna was the one sent to light that beacon. Surely, you can't think she might have had any part in some sort of treachery against Cailan." When he didn't respond immediately, she added, "You don't think that, do you?"

"No." He shook his head. "Not really. But . . . well, I do think it's possible she might have been unwittingly involved in some way. Perhaps she knew nothing of the Grey Wardens' plans, and is merely a pawn."

"What reason would the Wardens have for killing Cailan?"

"You know as well as I do that the Wardens have long been in bed with Orlais, and this would open the door for Orlais to invade while we're besieged by darkspawn and thrown into chaos by the death of our king. Didn't Cailan mention seeing Duncan in Val Royeaux last year? I wouldn't be at all surprised if Empress Celene convinced him to use his influence to make certain Cailan met an untimely end at the hands of the 'darkspawn.'"

Maker. That's right. Cailan had seen Duncan in the imperial palace. Even if the Grey Wardens, as a whole, weren't unduly tied with Orlais, Duncan himself certainly had been.

"That's a serious accusation," she murmured. "But it wouldn't be the first time the Orlesians took advantage of a Blight for their own political gain."

"No, it wouldn't. Nor would it be the first time Orlais offered to send help against a Blight, and then forgot to leave." He paused. "I don't have any proof that the Wardens conspired against Cailan, or that they're working with Orlais, but I feel in my bones that somehow they were involved."

That was good enough for Anora. There was no one whose instincts she trusted more than her father's. "In that case, preventing them from crossing the border sounds wise."

"Yes. We'll defeat the darkspawn on our own, without the help of some anachronistic and irrelevant order who is in the pocket of Empress Celene. The Bannorn is simply going to have to pull its weight. If they'd done so in the first place, we might have ended this at Ostagar. But that didn't happen, and now we need to find a way forward."

"Of course." She paused. "I do hope Rhianna isn't really involved in anything . . . horrible. With any luck she'll turn up here in Denerim soon. I hate the thought that something awful might happen to her, as well."

"So do I," he admitted.

"Perhaps you could put out the word, to search for her. Make sure she gets back here safely?"

"I've already done that. I left soldiers in Lothering to look out for her. She was last seen in the Wilds, so chances are she'll come through Lothering on her way to . . . wherever she decides to go next.

"Good." She sighed, and struggled to push back the exhaustion that had come over her. "I'll put out a call to the nobles, those who are here in Denerim at any rate. Have a meeting so we can update them on what happened in the south, and share our plans for how we intend to move forward."

"That's a good idea." He paused. "I know things seem . . . dire, at the moment. But we will pull through this. You'll keep your throne, and we'll defeat the darkspawn without losing ground to Orlais, or anyone else." He reached over and took one of her hands. "We will pull Ferelden through this. I promise."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Sehnsuchttraum, Psyche Sinclair and Amanda Kitswell, as well as special guest beta ASolitaryRose. And, as always, to all my fabulous reviewers: KatDancer, Irish_Changeling, and Riptide.
> 
> Last weekend I posted a new story, "Tidings of Satinalia Joy." It's a "what if" story in the tradition of "It's a Wonderful Life" and "A Christmas Carol," and gives a glimpse into an alternate reality where just one thing in Rhianna's life was different, and as a result, a great many things changed. So, you might want to check that out if you haven't already done so.


	22. To save a foolish king

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions visit Rainesfere.

__**16 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Rainesfere** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

First thing in the morning, just as the shop keepers were setting out their wares, six travelers and a mabari hound came through the gates of the city of Rainesfere. They received a few stares from the locals, to be sure. Especially the huge bronze-skinned warrior who clearly wasn't Fereldan, and the dark-haired woman who wore scarcely enough clothing on the top to be considered decent. The other four, however, were unremarkable: two men, one in chain mail, and two women wearing leathers. Anyone who might have thought of giving them trouble quickly decided against it at the sight of just how very well they were armed. Plus, the hound was huge. Probably a group of travelers not to be harassed.

Fortunately, this sort of good will came easily to the people of Rainesfere. They lived in beautiful city, surrounded by gorgeous countryside on the shores of the sparkling lake. The climate was generally good, and their bann was a kind-hearted man with a fastidious reputation. So, in spite of their somewhat odd appearance, Rhianna and her friends were welcomed warmly by the citizens of the town.

As for the town itself, Rainesfere was lovely. Near the outskirts, the red-roofed Chantry was nestled in a grove of trees, and nearby stood a pointy-roofed oast house, for drying hops; the region was, after all, famed for its ale. Near the center of town, timber-framed houses lined the cobbled streets, with brick basements, thatched roofs, and whitewashed walls of wattle and daub. Flowers were planted along the verges, and even this late in the season, a few of them managed to cling to life, bringing welcome splashes of color. A fountain trickled merrily in the center of the market square. Brightly colored awnings fluttered above storefronts, and trees lined the high street. It really was as pretty a town as Rhianna had ever seen.

They went first to the market square, where Rhianna was finally able to replace the shirts and trousers she had left behind in Ostagar. On a whim, she also bought herself two less practical items of clothing: a nightgown of soft white linen, and a beautiful gown of dark red damask that would be appropriate for dinner in a nobleman's hall. It was silly to buy such things - she wouldn't wear a nightgown while camping in the wilderness, nor a fancy dress for fighting darkspawn - but somehow, being in possession of these garments made her feel her life hadn't become completely uncivilized. Perhaps there was a spark of optimism in it, as well. Some hope that one day in the future, she would have the opportunity to wear them.

When they'd finished in the market, Rhianna gathered her companions, and led them up the high street away from the center of town.

"Let's go up to the castle," she suggested.

"The castle?" Alistair stopped walking. "Why would we go there? I mean, we can see it well enough from here, and I can't imagine they'll let us past the gates."

"Of course they'll let us past the gates." She smiled, and tugged at Alistair's arm to urge him forward again. "Bann Teagan is a friend of mine. We'll be welcomed with open arms, I promise, and I've no doubt we can talk him out of a hot meal, as well."

"You know Teagan Guerrin?" Alistair's brow creased, but he hurried to keep pace with her. "I mean, I know him, too. But not well enough that he'd want me tromping up to his front door."

"You know Teagan?" She paused. "Oh, that's right. You said something about growing up in the castle at Redcliffe. Was it Eamon who raised you?"

"Redcliffe?" Alistair grinned. "Did I say that? I don't remember saying that." He paused. "I was raised by dogs. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact."

Was he deliberately trying to avoid the subject? Perhaps he was; when Rhianna had asked a few days earlier, he'd been cagey about it then, too.

Before she could respond, Daveth joked, "Is that so? That must have been a challenge for them. What, did they pick you up by the back of your neck and carry you around?"

"Well, they were flying dogs, you see. Surprisingly strict parents, too, and devout Andrastians to boot. Of course, it wasn't until I was eight that I discovered you didn't have to lick yourself clean. Old habits die hard, you know."

"That does explain a few things." Daveth reached his hand up and pinched his nostrils together. "Like the smell."

"And your table manners," Leliana said with a wink.

"Quite so," Alistair chuckled. "Although . . . come to think of it, my table manners aren't all that different from the other templars."

"How did you end up in the Chantry, then?" Daveth lifted a brow. "Don't tell me those dogs sold you to the templars."

"That's exactly what happened," Alistair insisted. "I was worth five silvers, at least, which buys a lot of dog food, you know. Especially back then." He paused. "Not that they needed the money, of course, but when I got taller than they were, they finally realized I needed clothes . . . so, off to the Chantry for me."

"So," Rhianna began, vaguely amused by this banter, but ready for Alistair to stop joking. "Are you going to tell me about Arl Eamon? Or should I assume this was an allegorical tale, and he was one of the dogs who carried you around in his teeth?"

"Allegorical? I don't even know what that means, I'm afraid." Alistair wrinkled his nose. "I guess this means you don't believe the story about the dogs?"

"As much as it  _does_  explain a few things . . ." She let a smile play across her lips. "No, I don't."

"Oh, all right," he sighed. "If you're going to be a stickler about facts and things . . . fine. Let's see. How do I explain this? I'm a bastard." He glanced around, as though gauging the others' reactions. "And before anyone starts making smart comments, I mean the fatherless kind. My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle, and she died when I was very young. Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head."

"Eamon took you in out of charity?" That didn't sound much like the Eamon Rhianna knew; he'd never struck her as the sort to concern himself with the lives of commoners.

"That he did. The arl was good to me, and he didn't have to be. I mean, I wasn't raised as his son, if you're picturing that. It's not as though I slept on silk sheets or anything. I slept on hay out in the stables, or in the kennels with the hounds."

"You slept in the kennels?" The surprise in Leliana's voice echoed Rhianna's own. Even in an orphanage, Alistair would have slept on a cot at the very least. What in the world had Eamon been thinking?

"Why not?" Alistair shrugged, with a bright smile. "It was warm, and I always had good company." His smile faltered. "I spent my first ten years in the castle, until the arlessa decided she didn't want me around anymore."

"Lady Isolde?" Rhianna bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Now that I think about it, in all the years I've known Eamon Guerrin, I never once met his wife. Nor their son. Eamon always left them in Redcliffe when he came to Denerim for the Landsmeet."

"You didn't miss out on much." Alistair's expression curled up in a sneer. "The arlessa is an evil shrew of a woman, to be honest." Rhianna was surprised by this description, but said nothing as Alistair continued, "I don't know about the boy, though. I've never even seen him. He wasn't born yet when I was packed off to the nearest monastery at age ten." Alistair shrugged. "It was just as well. Arlessa Isolde made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me. I suppose she felt threatened by my presence, since most people refused to believe I wasn't her husband's bastard. She probably wondered if the rumors were true."

No doubt she wondered. Eamon really wasn't the sort of man to take in a child out of the goodness of his heart. "Are you sure he  _isn't_  your father?"

"Oh yes. Quite sure." Alistair gave a firm nod of his head. "It was just a kindness he did to a woman who had served him. But the arlessa didn't see it that way, and away I went, as soon as I was old enough to be of use to the Chantry. I wasn't happy about it at the time. I was young and resentful and not very pious. Of course I blamed Arl Eamon, and screamed at him like a little child . . . " Alistair looked off into the distance. "I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it against the wall. It shattered into at least a dozen pieces." He shook his head. "Stupid,  _stupid_  thing to do."

"You were young," Rhianna soothed, "and taken away from the only home you'd ever known. Of course you were unhappy. It is a shame the arlessa was so unpleasant to you, although I expect she's not the first wife to resent a child assumed to be her husband's bastard."

"I suppose so." He let out a breath. "The arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was so stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything, so I refused to talk to him, and eventually he just stopped coming. So, there I stayed, until Duncan recruited me into the Grey Wardens." He shrugged his shoulders. "Anyway . . . that's really all there is to the story."

Something about the way he said that left Rhianna unconvinced. "If you're sure Arl Eamon isn't your father," she said carefully, "does that mean you know who is?"

"Well. . ." Alistair dragged out the word. "I know who I was  _told_  was my father, but he's dead now, so it really isn't important."

So there  _was_  more to the story, but Alistair looked straight ahead, his expression slightly pinched. He didn't look willing to answer more questions on the subject.

At any rate, they had reached the bridge that spanned the moat of Rainesfere Castle. Just the sight of the castle lifted Rhianna's spirits; she felt more cheerful than she had in quite some time.

The guard at the front door stood a bit straighter at their approach. "Please state your business."

"We'd like to see Bann Teagan," Rhianna said. "I'm an old friend of his. Rhianna Cousland."

"Cousland? Of course." The guard nodded. "Please, follow me."

He led the way into the gatehouse, which stretched three stories high, and then across the courtyard. The castle was modest in size, and built on a quadrangular plan, with four round towers, one at each corner, and no central keep. Instead, all the rooms were built against the curtain wall, around a central courtyard. They were brought to a long, rectangular room; clearly, the castle's great hall.

"Wait here, if you please, while I inform the seneschal you're here." With that, the guard left them alone in the room.

Rhianna took a seat near the merrily blazing fire, and Leliana and Alistair joined her. Sten remained near the door, as if on watch, while Morrigan perused the bookshelves, running her finger across well-dusted spines. Daveth wandered around the room, looking at the paintings that hung on the walls, while Dane curled up in a patch of weak sunlight that filtered through one of the windows.

In a very few minutes, an older woman with grey-blonde hair entered the hall. She wore a well-made gown and a friendly smile, and after glancing around the room, walked toward the hearth and addressed Rhianna directly.

"Lady Cousland?"

"Yes, I'm Lady Cousland. Rhianna."

"Well met, milady. I am Berenice, Bann Teagan's seneschal."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhianna said as she nodded a greeting. "I apologize for our unannounced arrival, but my companions and I found ourselves in the area, and decided to make a stop in Rainesfere. Although I'm sure he's got his hands full right now, I should very much like to see Bann Teagan, if he has time for visitors."

"I'm certain Bann Teagan would love to see you, were he here. He's always spoken very highly of your family, and of you in particular, milady. Unfortunately, the bann isn't in Rainesfere at the moment. He left a few days ago for Denerim."

"Denerim?" Rhianna tried, and failed, to keep the disappointment from her voice. They had probably just missed him on the road from Lothering. "Of course. I expect a Landsmeet will be called to confirm Anora as queen."

"Indeed," Berenice replied. "That is one of the reasons he made the trip. That, and to learn what Teyrn Loghain intends to do now about the darkspawn, and his plans for rebuilding the armies."

"That is the highest priority just now, isn't it? I was at Ostagar. Nearly three-quarters of the soldiers there were killed in the battle. We," she gestured toward Alistair and Daveth, "were very lucky to get away with our lives."

"That's what heard, as well." A gentle crease formed along her forehead. "We received word that the teyrn has named himself regent until Anora can be confirmed as the sole ruler of Ferelden. I like to think King Maric would have approved; the king always seemed to dote on Anora when she was a girl."

"There's no one else in Ferelden better suited to rule," Rhianna said. "To be honest, I can't think of anyone else who might even be put forward."

"Well, there is always a chance someone else might try to claim the throne." The seneschal glanced at Alistair, and then looked back at Rhianna. A wry grin played across her lips. "I seem to recall your own father did just that five years ago. Oh . . ." Her smile faltered, and she reached over and put a gentle hand on Rhianna's arm. "I apologize, milady. That was careless of me to say. We had word here that something happened in Highever, and both your parents were killed?"

"Yes," Rhianna confirmed as she pushed back the grief that had sprung to life in her belly. "Just a few weeks ago."

"I am so sorry, my dear. You have my deepest sympathies."

"Thank you." Rhianna was grateful for the gesture. "To be honest, that's part of the reason I hoped to see Teagan today. These past few months have been awful. It would have wonderful to see a friendly face."

"I have no doubt of that." She smiled. "But with any luck, these troubles will be behind us soon. The teyrn can raise a new army, and Anora will take the throne." Again, her gaze fell briefly on Alistair. "This seems like the worst possible time for any sort of political dispute; the last thing we need is a civil war on top of the darkspawn horde."

"Civil war?"

That was something that hadn't occurred to Rhianna, but Berenice was right. Cailan having died without an heir did put Ferelden in a precarious position. If the Landsmeet didn't wholeheartedly support Anora to sit on the throne by herself . . . things could get very ugly. Loghain would have to be careful, or this could erupt into something equally as devastating as the Blight.

Perhaps she should have gone to Denerim after all. With her brother missing, she was the only Cousland in Ferelden, which made her the rightful Teyrna of Highever, and gave her a vote that she could cast in favor of Anora.

Would the Wardens even allow her to hold such a title? What was it Duncan had said?  _Do not think to meddle in political affairs_. No doubt, he wouldn't have approved of her running off to attend a Landsmeet. Not that she cared much for his opinions, especially now. Still, they were most of the way to Gherlen's Pass; it would be foolish to change course at this late date.

"I'm sure it's far too soon to be worried about such things," Berenice said. "No doubt, the Landsmeet will work everything out, and Teyrn Loghain will find the troops he needs."

"Yes," Rhianna agreed. "Let's hope the Landsmeet acts swiftly to make sure we're safe on all accounts."

"Indeed." Berenice smiled. "I do wish you'd arrived just a few days earlier. I know Teagan will be disappointed to have missed you. Of course, you and your companions are more than welcome to stay here in the castle, for as long as you like."

Oh, that was tempting. Comfortable beds, hot meals. The ability to sleep without worrying that bandits or darkspawn would stumble upon them during the night. But if they left Rainesfere now, they would have a half-day of travel left to them, and could make it most of the way to Gherlen's Pass before night fell. The sooner they made contact with the Orlesian Wardens, the better.

"Thank you so much for the offer," Rhianna said, "but unfortunately, we have pressing business elsewhere, and shouldn't take a day off without good reason."

"I understand. Well, at least say you'll stay long enough for the kitchen to pack some food for your travels. And if there are any other supplies you need, you have only to ask." She paused. "Please don't say no to the food. Bann Teagan will be extremely cross with me if he learns that Lady Rhianna Cousland had been here, and I hadn't done everything in my power to make her comfortable."

"Don't worry about that," Rhianna chuckled. "I have no intention of saying no to food. I would very much appreciate anything you can spare."

‹›‹O›‹›

An hour later, the companions were on their way again, this time loaded down with an extremely generous pack filled with breads and cheeses, sliced meats and pasties, fruit and a variety of other mouthwatering things. Stopping in Rainesfere had definitely not been a waste of time.

Even so, Rhianna would have traded all of the food in the city for an afternoon with Teagan, had that been an option.

They traveled north on the road that ran parallel to the shores of Lake Calenhad. The lake glittered to the east, and the Frostback Mountains rose up to the west. Late in the afternoon, they had an encounter with bandits who ambushed them along the road; it ended badly for the bandits.

Rhianna frowned over their corpses. In the whole of her life traveling Ferelden's roads, she'd encountered these sorts of criminals exactly once: the poachers in the Highever woods. But twice this week alone they'd encountered thugs waiting to ambush innocent travelers. Was this another side effect of the Blight? With regular soldiers few and far between, would people crawl out of the woodwork to take advantage of the situation?

A glint of light caught her eye; one of them had a reasonably good quality dagger. She had no need of it herself, but no doubt it could be sold for a decent amount of coin.

"Let's search the bodies." She reached down, grabbed the dagger, and checked the man's pockets for other valuables. "Take anything small enough to carry that looks like it might be worth some coin."

"What?" Alistair's voice was slightly higher pitched than usual. "We're going to . . . loot the bodies?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"That's not really . . . honorable, is it?"

"At the moment, I'm less concerned about honor, and more concerned about how we're going to finance this expedition of ours." She'd already sold all the jewels she'd carried away with her from Highever, and had only a small amount of coin left. "Unless the Grey Wardens have some magical way of finding us and delivering a stipend as we travel through the wilderness, we're going to need some other source of revenue. We can't count on people giving us things everywhere we go, as Teagan's seneschal did."

"Besides," Morrigan added, "these men were bandits. Surely, whatever they have was ill-gotten in the first place. It is not as though we're robbing honest citizens. And, it is not as though they will ever miss any of it. We did kill them, you know." She stared at Alistair, her brow gently creased. "Any intentions you may have of being softhearted seem to have arrived a bit too late to be of much use to these fellows." She strode over to one of the fallen men and used the toe of her boot to turn over the body before she searched through his pockets. She pulled out a small purse, and shook it; it jingled as though it contained a handful of coins. "See here! This will come in handy, no doubt."

"Hmnh. I still don't like it." Alistair stood to one side, arms crossed in front of his chest, and watched as the three women and Daveth searched the bodies. Sten, while not expressing any distaste for the activity, also chose not to participate.

Fine.

Rhianna wouldn't force them to sully their delicate sensibilities, so long as they didn't try to interfere. It's not as though it made her happy to take things off of the bodies of dead men, but what other choice did she have? She and her companions needed to eat. And, whether or not they participated, no doubt neither Alistair nor Sten would turn their noses up at the food and supplies this money would buy.

An hour or so further along the road, the sound of hoofbeats came up fast behind them: four mounted soldiers, riding hard to the north. The riders didn't even slow their pace as they went by, but Rhianna glimpsed the yellow wyverns on their shields.

Loghain's men.

"They're off to somewhere in a hurry," Daveth said.

"Probably the same place we're headed," Alistair replied. "Gherlen's Pass. I bet Loghain intends to turn the Grey Wardens away at the border, if he hasn't done so already."

Rhianna didn't comment; chances are, Alistair was right.

When evening fell, they camped by the side of the road, determined to get an early start the next day.

"So, Rhianna," Leliana asked as she served stew that had been heated over their small campfire, "how do you know this Bann Teagan?"

"I've known Teagan for years," Rhianna replied. "I think the first time I actually spoke with him was at Cailan and Anora's wedding. He was Cailan's witness, and I stood with Anora." She rubbed absently at her right arm, in the crease of her elbow where the bees had stung her most often.

"You were one of the witnesses for the royal wedding?" Daveth sounded impressed.

"Yes. I was asked to witness for Anora because Cailan and I are -were - cousins. And Teagan, of course, is Cailan's uncle."

"You and King Cailan were cousins?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "Through my mother. She and Maric shared a great-grandfather. Her line just didn't inherit the Theirin name."

"Then you're . . . a descendant of Calenhad?" The way Alistair looked at her made her a bit nervous.

"I am."

"Which means you have a claim to the throne of Ferelden," Leliana said.

"In theory, yes," Rhianna admitted, "if I wanted the throne. Which I don't. I've never had the slightest desire to be queen."

"Except now Loghain is going to try and put his daughter on the throne," Alistair said.

"Anora doesn't need to be 'put' on the throne," Rhianna replied. "She's already the queen, and she's a good queen. Far better than I would be. There's no reason she shouldn't continue to rule now that Cailan is dead, especially since she's been the one ruling the country for the past five years. Cailan . . . well . . . Cailan was often distracted by . . . other things."

"Your King Cailan sounds rather foolish," Morrigan said.

"He was the king," Alistair argued. "You can't say that sort of thing about him!"

"Of course I can," Morrigan laughed. "A king is, after all, just a man. And from what I am hearing, this Cailan was not a particularly wise man."

"Cailan had good intentions," Rhianna said. "I really believe he did want to do what was best, and never meant to harm people. But he wasn't . . . practical. Not like his father was. Maric . . . well, he was charming like Cailan, and funny and cheerful. But he lived through the Occupation. He knew what war was like, and he had experience with darkspawn. He would have handled things differently, better. For one thing, he would have listened to Loghain and taken his advice."

"You knew King Maric?" Alistair's tone had an unusual intensity; this was no idle question.

She glanced at him; for a moment, in the firelight, she was reminded of Maric. The straight nose, the shape of his chin . . . only Maric's eyes had been blue, very clear, deep blue . . .

An ache rose up in her chest. She still did miss Maric, so very much. Enough, apparently, that now she was imagining his face on other people.

She shook her head to clear it. "Yes. I knew the king. He and I were friends. We used to go on adventures together near Highever, and he would invite me to the Denerim palace for tea parties. He and I and Loghain did all sorts of things together." She smiled at the memory of the tea party Maric had held one year for Loghain's birthday, and at the day the three of them swam at the waterfall, but then her smile faltered. Such lovely memories, but now thinking about them hurt so much.

"I still remember," she murmured, "when I learned that his ship had gone off course . . ." She closed her eyes, and her father's face swam into her memory, as he had looked when he delivered that horrible news. "It's been years, but I still miss him."

When she opened her eyes, Alistair was staring at her, his head tilted to one side. He took a breath, as though he intended to say something, but before he could speak, Leliana leaned close.

"Did I hear you say that you know Teyrn Loghain, as well?"

"Yes. He and I . . ." Her voice trailed off; probably best not to admit the true depth of her relationship with him. Not now. Not to people who still seemed so inclined to blame him for Cailan's death. "We were friends for a great many years. Best friends. He saved my life, more than once. And taught me to fight. Taught me a lot of other things, as well." She sighed. "He's a good man. A hero."

Heat rose up behind her eyes, and she turned her face away from the fire. So many happy memories, thousands of little things, and big ones, they had shared over the years. And everything was in ruins now. She no longer had his love, nor even his friendship. It seemed impossible that they had come to this; throughout her whole life Loghain had been one of the few things that was constant. Even when she didn't see him for months, she knew he was there, knew his face would light up with a smile the next time they were together. She'd taken for granted the comfort of begin held in his arms, when she was scared, or upset, and later, just for the pleasure of being close. And now, somehow, it had all been ruined . . .

Alistair's voice cut through her reverie. "Whatever sort of man you thought he was, you were wrong."

Rhianna blinked, and turned to face him. Alistair wore a sneer that was already familiar: his eyes narrowed, his lip curled with disdain.

"And," he continued, "there's no way I will stand around idly and not see Loghain Mac Tir brought to justice."

He stared at her, as though daring her to challenge him.

He was so certain he was right, but he wasn't. He  _wasn't._ Anger flooded her, and _s_ omething inside her snapped.

_"_ How  _dare_  you," she breathed. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about. Did you hear a single word I said? Do you ever bother to listen to anything other people have to say? I've known Loghain for thirteen years! He  _saved my life_  multiple times. He taught me to defend myself, and fought at my side. He laughed at my jokes, and comforted me when I was scared, or hurt. He nearly killed a man once, for attacking me. And you have the gall to tell me I'm wrong about him? How  _dare_  you! You don't know him at all. You don't know the first thing about Loghain Mac Tir."

Alistair's eyes grew wide, but then he lifted his chin, as though determined not to back down. "People change, Rhianna. And whether or not he was nice to you when you were a child, none of it makes up for the fact that he murdered the king, along with the rest of the Grey Wardens." Alistair's voice was firm.

"Maker's balls!" The anger flared more brightly, and Rhianna's hands clenched into fists, but she forced her breath to remain steady. "Why are you so convinced Loghain meant for the king to die?"

"He's trying to cover up what he did at Ostagar, by blaming us! Why else would he say the Grey Wardens killed the king, if not to keep people from blaming  _him?_ I'm sorry, but that man needs to pay for what he has done."

"It seems to me," Morrigan broke in, "that one of you is determined to blame this Loghain for all of your troubles, while the other is equally determined to hold him completely blameless. I suspect the truth of the matter lies not at either of these endpoints, but somewhere in the middle."

Rhianna glanced at the witch. "I'll admit," she began, "it's odd that Loghain is blaming the Grey Wardens for Cailan's death. But he must believe we really are responsible."

"How could he believe we had anything at all to do with it?" Alistair's voice was high and strained. "We weren't even at the battle, remember? We were the ones who got sent on that little mission to light the beacon."

"The beacon we were  _late_  in lighting," she retorted. "You know that as well as I do. You'd seen the signal fire down on the field at least an hour before we managed to get to the top and light the fire. Don't you think it's possible Loghain might think we did that on purpose?"

"I'd like to know why there were darkspawn there in the first place," Alistair snapped back. "In the tower  _his_  men were supposed to have had secured. For all we know, Loghain arranged for the darkspawn to be there. Maybe he wanted us to fail!"

"Are you actually accusing Loghain Mac Tir of working with the darkspawn?" Rhianna sat up straighter. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"It's not stupid! I wouldn't put anything past that . . . monster. He killed Duncan. He killed the king. It wouldn't surprise me to find out he's working with the darkspawn."

"Maker's  _balls_! Will you listen to yourself?" Again, Rhianna forced herself to breathe slowly. "Loghain did not want Cailan to die." Another breath. "You weren't at the strategy meeting just before the battle, but I was. We didn't have enough soldiers. Loghain knew that, and tried to convince Cailan not to insist on sending the entire army out to face the horde, but Cailan wouldn't listen. He wanted to fight in an epic battle 'just like in the tales.' So Loghain begged him to stay off of the front lines at least, but still, Cailan wouldn't listen."

"That can't be right." Alistair crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You must have misunderstood what was said. Duncan was there, and he wouldn't have gone along with anything that put the king at risk."

"I didn't misunderstand anything. Duncan knew the plan was flawed; he tried to convince the king that the archdemon might appear. But Cailan wouldn't listen to Duncan, either. Cailan was the king. When it came down to it, everyone had to do what he said. So we did, and it turned out badly. But you can hardly fault Loghain for that."

"It didn't just turn out badly! You say that as though it were some kind of an accident. Duncan died because Loghain didn't do what he promised! He was supposed to charge, but he left the field. He took all of his soldiers, thousands of them, and abandoned the Grey Wardens. Abandoned the king to be killed by the darkspawn!"

Just as she was about to argue, yet again, the words dried up on her tongue.

What had he just said?

_Abandoned the king to be killed by the darkspawn_.

A thought that had lurked at the edges of her mind for the past few days finally leapt into sharp, perfect focus.

"Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn," Rhianna murmured. "And they can sense us."

"Yes." Alistair shrugged. "What has that got to do with anything?"

Rhianna caught Alistair's gaze and held it. "The darkspawn can sense Grey Wardens. So, what was Duncan thinking when he allowed Cailan to fight alongside them? That was the most dangerous place on the entire field. The horde would have been drawn to the Wardens like moths to a flame, and Cailan was right there beside them. Even if the horde wasn't larger than anyone expected, even if they'd had enough troops, how could Duncan possibly have thought that was a good idea?"

"I . . ." Alistair's brow creased. "I don't know. I never thought about it like that."

"Nor did I, until now. But Duncan should have."

"It still doesn't matter." Alistair leaned forward. "It was Loghain's strategy to have Cailan fight with the Wardens."

"It was Loghain's  _alternate_  strategy, after Cailan rejected all the sensible ones that kept him away from the front lines, and out of danger. And Loghain doesn't know that darkspawn can sense the presence of Wardens, not unless Duncan told him, which I can't imagine he did. Duncan didn't even tell  _me_ , and I'd been conscripted into the order." Rhianna's eyes grew wide with the implications of this revelation. "So Loghain couldn't have known just how much danger Cailan would be in. He probably thought the king would be safer with the Wardens – legendary warriors who specialize in killing darkspawn - than anywhere on the field," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "But Duncan knew better. He should have insisted the king stay far away from where the Wardens were fighting. Even if he didn't want to divulge a Grey Warden 'secret,' he should have insisted without saying why. The Wardens don't owe fealty to kings, after all. Cailan had no real authority over Duncan."

"Wait a minute." Alistair sat up straighter. "You can't blame Cailan's death on Duncan."

"Why not? He knew the danger, better than anyone, and still he didn't bother to stop Ferelden's  _king_  from putting himself directly in the path of the darkspawn. It makes more sense to blame Duncan than to blame Loghain, yet you insist on doing that." Alistair opened his mouth to respond, but Rhianna cut him off. "The truth is, what happened at Ostagar was bad luck. No one meant for the battle to be lost! Unless . . ."

Oh. That was a horrible thought.

Unless Duncan wanted Cailan to be killed. Or at least didn't mind if it happened. Duncan knew the battle plan was flawed. He knew fighting with the Wardens was the most dangerous place for Cailan to be. But still, he'd agreed.

What was it Loghain had told her? The Grey Wardens were all wrapped up with Orlais. She'd seen the Warden commander in Val Royeaux, after all, and  _not_ at the Warden compound, but at the palace, speaking with Empress Celene. And on their way to Ostagar, Duncan made it clear he didn't care if chevaliers refused to leave after the darkspawn were defeated. What if Celene and Duncan were working together? For Cailan to "accidentally" die in battle would put Orlais in a very good position to regain Ferelden.

"Unless what?" Alistair asked.

"Unless Loghain is right, and the Grey Wardens were working with Orlais. Empress Celene could have asked Duncan to make sure Cailan didn't survive the battle. He was in the perfect position to make that happen."

"Are you joking?" Alistair's face had turned beet red. "Duncan wouldn't do something like that!"

Somehow, this thought had drained all the anger out of Rhianna, and left her feeling hollow and scared. "How do you know?" she murmured. "You only knew the man for a few months."

"I just know," he shouted. "Duncan wasn't like that." He threw his hands up. "How could you even suggest such a thing? Grey Wardens aren't political. We fight darkspawn wherever they may be. Duncan wouldn't involve himself in Orlesian politics, and he certainly wouldn't have helped in some nefarious plan to murder the king." Alistair stabbed an accusatory finger at her. "You just don't want to admit this is Loghain's fault. Blast it all! This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"It's not ridiculous," she said calmly. "I'm not saying this is definitely the way it happened. I hope with all my heart this is not the way it happened. I'm just saying it could have. Duncan was in Orlais. I saw him there, talking to Empress Celene, just a few months ago. As for Loghain, all he's ever done is try and protect Ferelden. Perhaps this doesn't mean much to you. Perhaps you wouldn't mind living under Orlesian rule. But it matters to me. I am Fereldan, and I intend for this country to remain free. Now, and always." She struggled against a wave of exhaustion. "I just wish you could see that what happened at Ostagar isn't anyone's fault. It just happened. If you want to blame someone, blame the darkspawn."

"No." Alistair shook his head. "Duncan believed we could win the battle. I'm sure of that. He never would have agreed to it otherwise. Loghain was the one who didn't follow through on his promise. He's the one who abandoned the king and the Grey Wardens, and all those soldiers who died!"

"The battle was already lost, mate," Daveth murmured. He sat hunched over as though unwilling to attract much attention. "I saw the beacon light up, and within minutes, King Cailan was dead. I don't know about the rest of the Wardens, but it's hard for me to imagine that any army could have fought its way through all those darkspawn in time to save . . . well, anyone."

"It wasn't our fault." Alistair's shoulders sagged. "We did the best we could to light the beacon on time! We didn't know there would be darkspawn!"

"Of course we did our best." Rhianna let out a ragged breath. "But that doesn't change the fact that the beacon didn't get lit when it was supposed to. And nothing can change the fact that there were just too many darkspawn."

"That shouldn't have mattered." Alistair's face twisted up again, but it seemed as though some of the fire had gone out of him. "Cailan was the king. Loghain should have done whatever was necessary to try and save him."

"Even if it cost the lives of all of his soldiers?" Everyone turned to face Morrigan. "To save a foolish king who had put himself in that sticky spot to begin with? Daveth is right. I was there, as well, and I saw what happened on that battlefield. The darkspawn completely overwhelmed your king and his armies. I do not think the arrival of this general and his men would have done any good. Chances are they would just have died too, and in vain."

"What do you know about battle?" Alistair snapped. "You've spent your whole life hidden away in the Wilds."

Morrigan arched a defiant brow. "I may not know about armies and battle plans, but I know about fighting for one's life. And I know about death. I have seen more of it than you could possibly imagine."

Alistair glared at Morrigan, and glanced at Rhianna. Then he stood, and strode noisily away from the campfire. His armor clanked as he sat heavily on the ground just outside of the light cast by the fire.

Thank the Maker. If he wanted to be alone, so be it, as long as it gave Rhianna a few minutes of peace. Some respite from Alistair shouting about things he knew nothing about. He didn't know the first thing about Loghain, and his refusal to listen to reason was infuriating.

Things had gone wrong at Ostagar. Horribly, terribly wrong. But not because of Loghain.

There had to be a way to fix this.

Damn it. They should have gone to Denerim. She should have gone to the capital, and sat down with Loghain until they'd worked out everything between them. All the misunderstandings about what happened in the battle, and whatever she'd done that had made him so angry beforehand. She should have made certain she would be recognized as the rightful teyrna of Highever, and put forward her vote for the queen. But it was too late for that now. They were at the other end of the country, and traveling on foot. There was nothing to do but make the best of it.

Rhianna ran a hand across her face. Perhaps soon they could join up with the Wardens from Orlais. At least then she and Alistair wouldn't be alone in this anymore, struggling to find their way in the dark, surrounded by accusations and Grey Warden secrets and questions they simply could not answer.

Assuming the Orlesian Wardens could be found. Or trusted.

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum and Amanda Kitswell, and also to my lovely reviewers: Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, DarkspawnHorror, and Kit.
> 
> Take a peek at my "Place Claim" work to see my vision of what the town and castle of Rainesfere might look like.


	23. A greater depth of treachery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain addresses the Landsmeet, and has an unexpected visitor.

**18 August, 9:30 Dragon**  
 _**Denerim** _ **  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain's head ached as he gazed out over the nobles, merchants and tradesmen gathered below him on the floor of the great hall of the palace. He'd not had a proper night's sleep in weeks, and worse, in the time it had taken to call this meeting, a flurry of rumors had begun, and seemed already to be spiraling out of control. People were worried about the darkspawn, which was understandable, but the cause of Cailan's death was also the subject of much speculation; there were those in Denerim - none of whom had actually shown their faces at Ostagar, of course - who wanted to point fingers and place blame. Anora stood beside him, her expression placid as always, but when she met his gaze, it was clear she feared that the nobility would not be as cooperative as she had originally hoped.

Loghain made a quick survey of those in attendance. Bann Ceorlic was here of course, as were Leonas Bryland, Sighard Davies, and Nicola Baranti. Close at Nicola's side was Tanith Curwen; it seemed the older bann had taken the young one under her wing. A distance apart from the two women stood Vaughan Kendells; the lad had a sour, haughty expression on his face, as though he intended to start trouble. Also standing alone was Bann Esmerelle, her arms crossed in front of her chest. It was strange to see her without Rendon Howe at her side; just how much did she know about recent events in Highever?

From the north, Franderel was here, as was Bann Loren. The latter was something of a surprise; apparently, his wife and one of his sons had been murdered in Highever along with the Couslands. Loghain wouldn't have expected the man to make the trip to Denerim, unless perhaps he intended to speak with the queen about justice for Rendon Howe. Assuming Loren even knew Howe had been behind the massacre; that news didn't seem to have spread, what with everyone too busy talking about Ostagar.

A small group from the Bannorn were here as well: banns Bronach, Telmen and Ramsay. They huddled together now, whispering among themselves. And, another surprise, Teagan Guerrin was here. Generally, the bann of Rainesfere left politics to his brother, but in this case he appeared to have made an exception.

There were a few notable absences. Not a single representative from anywhere in the south was present; no doubt, they were loath to leave their holdings while the darkspawn loomed so close. The banns from the further reaches of the kingdom – Ayre and Penfro - had apparently elected not to make the journey. Nor was Eamon here; with any luck, that meant the mage Loghain had sent to Redcliffe had been successful in his task. And of course, there was no representative from Highever.

All in all, Loghain was not put at ease by the make up of the group. Perhaps it was for the best that they didn't have the simple majority required to call a formal Landsmeet; this bunch seemed unlikely  to put Anora on the throne without a struggle. Even so, enough of the nobility was present to make it worth Loghain's while to put on a good show. He would do his best to stir in them some patriotic spirit. Convince them to stand with him against the darkspawn, and not plunge the nation into chaos.

Anora nodded to her seneschal, and the man rapped sharply, three times, with his staff on the wooden planks of the gallery. Within seconds, the room fell silent.

"Thank you for joining me here today," Anora began. "I've asked you here because I know you all have questions about rumors you may have heard, as well as a great many concerns about the future. So, let me start by sharing with you the truth about what really happened in the south." She paused. "It is true that our armies were defeated at Ostagar, with the exception of those soldiers Teyrn Loghain was able to save by a tactical retreat. Even so, a great many were killed, including my husband, your king. Now we will all have to work together to rebuild Ferelden's military forces, and drive the darkspawn from our lands forever. With that in mind, my father, your trusted general, will act as regent until such time as a proper Landsmeet can be called, and I am confirmed as your queen."

A few murmured voices broke the silence below.

"What does your father - the new regent - intend to do about the darkspawn, now that the army is gone?" This from Bann Bronach, an older man with ruddy skin, and brown hair streaked with grey at the temples. His bannric - Hafter River - was very near Denerim, and he'd sent no troops south, even though Cailan had requested them. Loghain had never entirely trusted the man; he was a cousin to Mother Bronach, who had been Meghren's Grand Cleric here in Ferelden during the Occupation. Eventually, she had spoken out against Orlesian rule, but only after the tide had already begun to turn in Maric's favor. Ever since, the family's name left a bad taste in Loghain's mouth.

With a glance at Anora, Loghain stepped forward. "As the queen said, we will have to rebuild Ferelden's military forces. There are those who would take advantage of our weakened state if we let them. Not only do we need to defend against the darkspawn in the south, but another enemy waits at our western border: four legions of Orlesian chevaliers. And I have no doubt Empress Celene will be happy to send more if she believes we are unable to defend ourselves against them. I have seen first-hand the destruction of which the darkspawn are capable, and they remain the most immediate threat. However, we cannot risk another occupation. Ferelden needs soldiers who will stand and face these enemies. And," he glanced around the hall, with a gesture that took in all of the spectators, "I expect each of you to supply these men. We must rebuild what was lost at Ostagar, and quickly."

"But we need soldiers to defend our own holdings," Bann Ramsey shouted. His bannric, Abervale, was also in the north. "Oxton, down in the Southron Hills, was completely destroyed. And they say Lothering will be next, now that Ceorlic pulled all his troops out of that city. Can you guarantee that if we send our soldiers away, the same won't happen in other places."

"Guarantee?" Loghain's voice grew loud, over the din of raised voices that followed the bann's question, and he couldn't quite keep a hint of mockery from his tone. "You want a guarantee? This is war, man. The only thing certain here is that if we do nothing - if we do not organize ourselves to stand and fight - Ferelden will fall. To the darkspawn, or to Orlais, it hardly matters. If we are to prevail, we must stand together. Join me, and I will lead Ferelden to victory."

"Your lordship, if I might speak?" Bann Teagan looked up at Loghain expectantly.

The ache in Loghain's head grew more insistent as he nodded his permission.

"You have declared yourself Queen Anora's regent, and claim we must unite under your banner for our own good. But what of the army lost at Ostagar? You say, and rightly so, that we are greatly weakened by the loss of the king's armies. Yet all of your own troops remain intact. Your withdrawal was most . . . fortuitous."

A ripple of sound washed over the gathering, as people whispered to themselves or made noises of agreement or dissent. Anger welled up in Loghain's chest.

"No doubt," Loghain replied, "it is easy to question the decisions that happened during a battle for which none of you were present. Men fought and died for Ferelden, while all of you lay safe and warm in your beds. What of the army lost at Ostagar? They died because we were outnumbered by the darkspawn. They died because of the Grey Wardens' treachery, and failure to light a signal beacon on time. Your king died because he insisted on fighting beside those Grey Wardens. The only reason we still have hope of defeating the darkspawn was the withdrawal of my troops, so they would not be massacred along with those who had already died." Loghain raised his arm, and clenched his fist tight. "I have not shirked my duty to the throne, and neither will any of you!"

His arms crossed in front of his chest, Teagan spoke again. "The Bannorn will not bow to you simply because you demand it!"

What was this? Teagan was a good man, but perhaps his grief over the death of his nephew had clouded his judgment. This was not about the Bannorn and its bloody-minded desire for independence at the cost of all else. How many times had the idiot banns cut off their noses to spite their faces?

"This is not a dispute over who owns a grove of trees, or whether or not a dam can be built upriver from your grist mill. The future of Ferelden - the lives of all her citizens - hangs in the balance here. We must defeat this darkspawn incursion while defending our borders, and we must do so sensibly and without hesitation." He paused. "Understand this." His head pounded, but Loghain looked Teagan directly in the eyes, and then passed his gaze over the entire assembly. "I will brook no threat to this nation . . . from you or anyone!"

A flurry of voices erupted across the room, but Loghain's head felt ready to split in two, and he had no patience left for the Bannorn and their petty concerns. Nor was he willing to listen to more accusations flung by people who had not sent their own soldiers to fight and to die. Instead, he turned and strode down from the gallery and out of the great hall and into the palace proper.

He retreated to the study that he was using as a war room, and threw himself down into a chair. If these fools were unable to see just what was at stake, he was unwilling to hold their hands and try and convince them. Not today, at any rate. He had more pressing matters to consider. Like where he was going to find an army to fight the darkspawn, as well as keeping the border defended from the Maker-damned Orlesians. And at some point, he would need to sleep. That had been a commodity in short supply ever since he left Ostagar, and he was too old to keep running indefinitely on nothing but adrenaline. He had hoped that once he returned to Denerim, he would have some time to relax, to breathe, but that hadn't happened. If anything, being in the city was more chaotic than traveling with the army had been.

He walked to the cabinet at the side of the room and poured himself a whiskey, but then set the glass down on the counter, untouched. Probably it would only make his headache worse. Best to leave it alone for the time being. Perhaps a few minutes with his eyes closed would help. To sit, and try and relax, and push all thoughts out of his head, even for a short time.

Before he could cross the room and return to his chair, his privacy was shattered by a guard in the doorway.

"A messenger has arrived to see you, Your Grace. One of your Gwaren men."

A messenger? "Show them in."

The guard nodded, and a moment later a man - dirty and travel-worn - entered the room. 

"Good afternoon, Your Grace."

Loghain recognized the man immediately: one of the guards he'd left stationed in Lothering. Did this mean there was news about Rhianna? Loghain studied the man's face, his posture. If there was news, it didn't seem likely to be good.

"You have something to report?"

"Yes, ser. It's about the Grey Wardens. They did turn up in Lothering, as you'd expected."

"Both of them? A man and a woman?"

"Yes, ser."

Maker. Rhianna was alive. Some of the tension he'd held for days, ever since the battle, drained away. Rhianna was alive. Perhaps she was even here in Denerim. The thought that he might see her - might talk to her, hear her voice - buoyed his mood, and the pounding in his head seemed somewhat less intense.

But the guard did not elaborate. Had something gone wrong?

"And? Where are they?"

"That I can't tell you, ser. We . . . we were forced to leave them behind, in Lothering."

"You couldn't convince them to come with you? All  _five_  of you?"

The guard didn't meet Loghain's stare. "Um, no ser. We couldn't convince them. They . . . well, it wasn't just the two of them, ser. There's a woman traveling with them, some sort of . . . well, some sort of a witch." The man glanced at Loghain, who had lifted a brow. "I swear to you, ser. She wasn't wearing proper clothes, and she cast spells at us with her staff. And a Chantry sister - a woman with an Orlesian accent - stuck her nose in. When we tried to overpower them, all four of them attacked, and, well . . . the woman? Rhianna? She's good with her sword. And her dog is . . . quite large."

Both of those things were true.

"So they just, what? They attacked when you told them I wanted them to come to Denerim? I trust no one was killed?"

"No one was killed, ser. And no, they didn't just attack. To be honest, the woman tried to be reasonable. She even said she was willing to come with us, that she wanted to talk to you. But the other Warden, a blond fellow, he was . . . antagonistic. Refused to talk. Kept saying you were a traitor, and had killed King Cailan, and when he drew his sword, I didn't see any other option than to fight."

So, Maric's bastard wasn't interested in any sort of reasonable discussion, and had blamed Loghain for the king's death? That sounded suspicious, to say the least. What better for the Wardens than to lay blame on someone else, and then try to put a Grey Warden king on the throne of Ferelden? Most likely, this was the reason Duncan wanted Alistair kept out of the battle in the first place. If only Cailan could have known he'd sealed his own death warrant by sending Alistair to the Tower of Ishal.

"She did have a message for you, though."

"Rhianna?"

"Yes. Said to tell you that you're wrong about the Grey Wardens. That they didn't betray the king, and that all she wanted was to find a way to stop the darkspawn before they destroy Ferelden." He paused. "She was all right, really. She could have killed me, but she didn't. And afterwards, the man started shouting about wanting us dead, and she said no to that, too. Said she wouldn't kill an enemy who surrendered."

Yes, that sounded like something she would say. And she claimed the Grey Wardens hadn't betrayed the king? He wanted to believe her. Wanted very much to believe her. Perhaps it was the truth.

Of course, it's also what she would say if it weren't true.

"And you have no idea where she was headed next?"

"No, ser. We . . . well, when she agreed to show us mercy, we got out of there straight away. In case she changed her mind, or the other one decided to kill us anyway."

He sighed. "Of course." He rubbed at his temple, which had begun to pound again. "Go to Fort Drakon and check in with your unit commander. And thank you for the report."

The man bowed, and left quickly. Loghain eyed the glass of whiskey he had poured, but again decided against it. Rhianna was alive, but refused to come to Denerim? And who was this so-called witch, and why on earth would Rhianna be involved with an Orlesian Chantry sister?

When Rhianna had come to him in the king's camp, she hadn't seemed much changed. Older, and haunted perhaps, and wounded by things that had happened, but still the same generous, loving woman he had known. But for her to have lain with Cailan, and then that fiasco with lighting the beacon . . . Had she really been complicit in the Grey Warden's betrayal of the king? If, indeed, there had been a betrayal, and it wasn't just incompetence and an underestimation of the power of the horde? Loghain had publicly blamed the Grey Wardens for the king's death, and would continue to do so, partly because he truly believed Duncan might have set a trap for the king. More to the point, however, it was a sound strategy. If people believed the Grey Wardens had killed their king, no one would argue with him about keeping the Orlesian Wardens - and their chevaliers - from crossing the border.

But where did Rhianna fit into all of this? It was impossible to believe she would have been complicit in killing Cailan, but why else had the beacon been lit so damned late? And who were these new traveling companions of hers? An apostate and an Orlesian Chantry sister? And, of course, a young man with an extraordinarily good claim to the throne of Ferelden, should it become publicly known that he is one of Maric's bastard children.

Before Loghain could ponder these questions further, his guard appeared in the doorway once again.

"Excuse me, Your Grace, but there is someone else asking to speak with you."

Loghain waved a dismissive hand. "Whoever it is, send them away."

"He's rather insistent, ser. It's the Arl of Amaranthine. He says he must speak to you, urgently."

What? Rendon Howe? The man had the nerve to show his face in Denerim?

Of course, it's possible Howe didn't think there was much danger. It seemed the truth about what happened in Highever wasn't common knowledge. No doubt, Howe believed he'd done a thorough job of keeping things quiet, probably by killing everyone who got in his way.

Did he even know that Rhianna was still alive?

Either way, for him to turn up now seemed ridiculous. Howe must realize the truth would come out sooner or later, and there was no way he would get away with what he'd done. And why was he here? What could he possibly want with Loghain?

Ah well. There was little harm in hearing what Howe had to say, after which Loghain would take him into custody, and have him hanged in the morning.

"Very well. Show him in."

When Rendon Howe entered the study. Loghain didn't cross the room to greet him, or offer him anything to drink. He merely sat in his chair, and stared as the Arl of Amaranthine hovered nervously by the door.

"Teyrn Loghain. It's a pleasure to see you here. Alive, after what happened in Ostagar." He hesitated, as though waiting for a response, but Loghain didn't have the energy to play games. Instead, he continued to stare, and wait out the uncomfortable silence until Howe spoke again. "The king's death. It's a . . . tragedy. And is it true what they're saying? The darkspawn are a bigger threat than anyone imagined?"

"The darkspawn horde is larger than anticipated, yes. Never fear. I will do what needs to be done to defeat it." Loghain tired of this attempt at small talk. "Why are you here, Howe?"

"Getting right to the point, are we?" Howe chuckled, a cold sound devoid of humor. He took a single, tentative step into the room. "I wonder, Your Grace, if you are aware of events that transpired not long ago in Highever?"

"The massacre of the Cousland family?"

All the color drained from Rendon Howe's face. "Massacre?" Howe's voice was higher pitched than before. "Such a charged word to use. Clearly, you must be misinformed about the circumstances that led up to these events."

Ah, of course. Now Howe would try and talk himself out of a hangman's noose. Come up with some plausible reason for having murdered Bryce and Eleanor in the middle of the night.

Loghain really should stop him here and now. All too well, Loghain remembered the look in Rhianna's eyes when she'd told him what had happened. Her grief and horror. The unimaginable pain Rendon Howe had caused to so many people. What could Howe possibly say to mitigate any of that? Loghain should pull the dagger from his boot and slit Howe's throat now, before the man wasted his breath, and Loghain's time, with some shoddy explanation. It would be quicker and more merciful than hanging. Then Loghain could go lie down in the dark somewhere until this ache in his head retreated.

But he forced himself to remain in his chair. "Do you mean to say there is some legitimate reason you attacked in the middle of the night, killing Bryce and Eleanor, along with most of the residents of the castle? Or is that not what happened, and some other chain of events lead to the death of the teyrn and teyrna of Highever?"

Howe hesitated, and his expression shifted subtly, as though he'd been surprised by they question. No doubt, the man  _had_  intended to spin some other sort of tale about what had happened that night. What had Anora said? She's heard something about elven riots?

Damn it. Loghain shouldn't have said anything. It would have been far more interesting to see what lies Howe had come up with.

"May I ask," Howe replied, "where you got your information about what happened that night?"

"From Rhianna Cousland."

Again, Howe's face blanched of the little color that had returned. "The Cousland girl. She . . . survived, then?"

"Yes." Loghain arched a brow. "She survived." A wave of exhaustion hit him, and the throbbing in his left temple intensified. "I know what happened that night, Rendon, and I am not in the mood to play games with you. So, if you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I'm going to call my guards and have you arrested. You didn't really expect to get away with murdering the Couslands, did you? Hanging seems a reasonable consequence."

"Please." Howe took a step backward, his hands raised in submission. "There's no need to involve the guards, Your Grace." His voice trembled. "You said you talked to the Cousland girl, and I have no doubt she told you a very . . . colorful story about what happened that night. It is true that my men attacked the castle in the middle of the night, but when you understand the circumstances . . . the whole story - not just those parts someone named Cousland would share - you'll see things very differently."

Howe fell silent, waiting for some response.

Let him wait. Loghain didn't speak; he merely sat and stared at the man through narrowed eyes. He was willing to listen, but had no intention of making this easy on Howe. Better to give him enough rope to hang himself.

Howe began to fidget, and finally realized Loghain was waiting for him to continue.

"I . . . I know this may be difficult to believe, but the Couslands intended to betray Ferelden."

Loghain nearly laughed aloud. "That is, indeed, difficult to believe. Bryce Cousland was no traitor. Far from it. Or do you not recall fighting at his side during the Rebellion?"

A muscle in Howe's cheek twitched, slightly, at the mention of the Rebellion. "Of course I do." He paused. "And, of course, I knew this is what you would say. But the Rebellion was years ago, after all; people change." He pulled from his pocket a sheath of parchments, and held them in a trembling hand. "You don't have to take my word for it. I have proof. Written evidence of Bryce Cousland's treachery." 

Of course he had proof. He'd be a fool to come here with nothing but his own spoken word, but Loghain was not yet impressed.

"Written documents are easily forged."

"That is true. But . . . you knew the man. Please, examine them at your leisure. You'll find they are in Bryce's own hand, sealed with his signet ring."

Loghain held out a hand. "Let me see."

Encouraged, Howe took two somewhat halting steps into the room, and then came forward and put the documents into Loghain's hand before retreating back out of arms' reach.

Loghain considered the stack of correspondence in his hand. There were several letters here. He set them on the table, and picked up the first off of the stack. He unfolded it, and glanced at the text without really reading what it said. He didn't care about the content at this point; Howe wouldn't have offered the documents if they didn't support his story, whatever it would turn out to be.

Yes, it certainly appeared to be in Bryce's own hand, and the seal looked genuine.

"And just how did these come to be in your possession?"

"For some time now, I have had . . . concerns, about Bryce's activities." Howe gave a practiced smile. "There was an unpleasant incident last year where some of the soldiers in his command attacked innocent families in the Coastlands. Looting homes, lighting fires." He paused. "Having their way with wives and daughters."

A flash of memory came into Loghain's head unbidden: his mother, in the flickering torchlight; the sound of her screams, and of his father's struggle to break free from the guards.

He said nothing, though, and Howe continued, "Mostly families who lived near Amaranthine. My own soldiers managed to apprehend the offenders, who claimed they were acting under Bryce's direction. I found that very difficult to believe, as you might imagine, and when I spoke with Bryce about it, he claimed to have no knowledge that any such thing was taking place. But there was something that nagged at me, a feeling that he was hiding something. This made me wonder if perhaps he had turned a blind eye to the abuses some of his guard were committing, and I . . . well, I thought it would be a good use of resources if I were to . . . intercept some of his correspondence. Try and get to the bottom of things."

Intercepting correspondence? Howe was slipping the noose around his own neck quite effectively.

"Imagine my surprise," Howe continued, "when I came into possession of documents that had nothing to do with matters in Amaranthine, but rather had been intended for the eyes of Empress Celene."

This got Loghain's attention. Still, he waited for Howe to continue.

"I learned that Bryce was brokering a new treaty between Orlais and Ferelden. One that would benefit Highever - the Couslands in particular - at Ferelden's expense." He spoke more quickly, as though he expected to be interrupted. "He was also encouraging King Cailan to set aside your daughter, so he would be free to marry Empress Celene."

The comment about a new treaty was quickly overshadowed by this second revelation: Bryce wanted Cailan to marry the empress?

Maker's balls.

The idea itself was hardly a surprise; this was exactly the sort of thing Cailan would have found appealing - becoming the Emperor of Orlais - although in truth, Loghain would have said the king was not truly capable of such betrayal, of both his wife and his country. What was surprising was that Bryce had been the one to suggest it. Eamon Guerrin, with an Orlesian wife of his own, and a hatred of Anora, yes. But Bryce? What would he have hoped to gain by brokering an arrangement like this with the Orlesian empress? If anything, it would have made more sense for Bryce to try and convince Cailan to marry Rhianna, in the event Anora was set aside.

"Your expression," Howe began carefully, "suggests that you had no idea the king was considering such a thing?"

"No. I had no idea."

"Ah," he purred. "I had thought . . ." His voice trailed off, and then he tilted his head to one side with a crooked smile. "Then it really was just a convenient accident that Cailan died at Ostagar?"

"Convenient?" Loghain leaned forward. "Our king is dead, and our country is put at great risk as a result. Whatever plans he may or may not have had regarding Orlais, there is nothing 'convenient' about that, whatsoever. Not just that, but a man we both knew throughout the whole of his life - a boy who'd barely grown into a man - is  _dead_ _,_ and far too soon."

"Of course, you're right." He took a small step backward. "I meant nothing by it, Your Grace. Nothing at all." He paused. "I do wonder if perhaps Bryce had some hope of taking the throne. I know it rankled that the Landsmeet didn't choose him five years ago. He kept quiet about it, of course . . ." Howe shrugged. "But, if Cailan became the emperor of Orlais, someone else might have been chosen to rule Ferelden in his stead."

Loghain tapped the letters that sat before him. "Does he say he wants the throne?"

"No . . . not in so many words. I got the feeling they were still in relatively early stages of negotiation on many of the finer details. But," he hurried to add, "it was just one part of his plan, Your Grace, and even if Bryce did not succeed in claiming the throne, he would benefit by improving his relationships with both King Cailan and the Empress. Too, these documents show that he was benefiting in a more tangible way. The empress was very generous in the gifts she bestowed upon all of the Couslands during their visit last year. And . . . Bryce was arranging another marriage, as well. Hedging his bets, as it were."

Howe paused, and seemed to be waiting for a sign from Loghain that he should continue. Or perhaps he just wanted the things he'd already said to sink in. Which they did. Not that Loghain believed any of it. Not yet. It was wildly out of character for Bryce to have involved himself in such a thing. Yes, perhaps the man was sometimes overeager to make nice with the Orlesians, but Highever's proximity to Orlais did make that understandable, to a certain degree.

When Howe did not continue, Loghain finally asked, "What other marriage?"

"One for his daughter, Rhianna. A quite lucrative match, in fact, with the empress' first cousin. A man called Presd'eaux. From what I heard, the girl herself was  _very_  enthusiastic about it. Quite . . . unashamedly so, in fact."

Rhianna? Marrying some Orlesian noble?

"I don't believe it."

Although something about that name was familiar . . . Presd'eaux. Was that the name Celene had mentioned all those years ago, when she first inquired about Rhianna's future?

"Yes," Howe drawled, and one corner of his mouth turned up in a grin. "I had a feeling you might say that. I . . . well, I long suspected that you had some . . . interest in the girl. For your own sake? The two of you were always so . . . close, and I seem to recall you were quite solicitous of the girl when it looked as thought she had been injured during that unfortunate incident on Funalis."

Loghain raised one eyebrow in a glare that quickly wore away at Howe's grin. Did Howe somehow know the truth about what had passed between Loghain and Rhianna, or was he merely guessing?

"Perhaps not," Howe amended quickly. "Perhaps not. Regardless of any of that, I assure you, the Couslands were making plans to ally themselves quite thoroughly with Orlais. Which, of course, would be high treason. Rhianna Cousland is a descendant of Calenhad, on her mother's side. Her blood is as royal as Cailan's was. A fact that surely had not escaped the girl's father, nor the Orlesian empress. This cousin happens to be the empress' heir, and if Rhianna had married him, any children that union produced could have claimed the thrones of both Orlais and Ferelden. Clearly, a marriage like that posed a grave and immediate threat to Ferelden. Especially if any marriage between Cailan and Celene proved barren, as did Cailan's marriage with your daughter."

"I know Rhianna Cousland," Loghain replied. "She would not marry an Orlesian. And she would certainly not do anything to endanger the throne of Ferelden. I guarantee you, she is savvy enough to understand the situation, and would never agree to something like that."

"But she did agree." Howe leaned closer. "Well," he amended quickly, "I don't know if she agreed to the marriage. But she certainly agreed to enter into a relationship with this man." He frowned, as though trying to appear regretful, but the effect was somewhat too self-congratulatory. "One of Cailan's guards who accompanied them on my trip . . . well, he also happens to be in my . . . employ. And he witnessed a great many interesting things. Do you want to hear the details?"

"Go on," Loghain said tiredly.

"I know you were fond of the girl," Howe replied. "But I assure you, she entered willingly into an exceedingly intimate relationship with this man. My eyewitness saw him climb in her bedroom window just about every night she was in Orlais, and he didn't emerge again until morning. He gave her 'private tours' all over the city, and out in the countryside, where they spent long hours together with no one to chaperone their outings."

Maker's balls. What was it Cailan had said? Something about Rhianna kissing an Orlesian nobleman. A cousin of the empress . . .

A heavy weight settled in Loghain's stomach, and his head pounded more fiercely. Was it possible that any of this could be true?

Surely not. He  _knew_  Rhianna. She loved Ferelden as passionately as did Loghain himself, and that trip to Orlais happened mere months after the two of them had been . . . so intimate with one another. The thought that she might have gone willingly into another man's arms so soon . . .

Of course, it wasn't as though he could have expected her to remain faithful to him, after what he'd done. And other things  _had_  surprised him. The way she calmly accepted being conscripted into the Grey Wardens. Her willingness to lay with the king the night before the battle. And, apparently, she was traveling now with a woman from Orlais.

Perhaps Rhianna had changed, and if so, no doubt, Loghain himself was to blame. Perhaps everything that had happened between them had hurt her, twisted her, and made her willing to abandon the things she had loved, in search of something new that would make her happy. And if her father had encouraged this somehow . . .

No. That seemed ridiculous. The whole thing seemed ridiculous. Loghain would have sworn that Bryce was no traitor, and Rhianna most assuredly was not. And yet, Cailan had mentioned an Orlesian lord. That was too specific to be a coincidence.

If Howe was telling the truth about that, perhaps he was telling the truth about everything.

"There is one more thing." Howe paused. "On First Night . . ." His voice trailed off and his eyes darted to the side, as though he were uncertain he wanted to finish the sentence he had begun.

"What happened on First Night?"

"Well . . ." Howe continued, a bit too eagerly, "to put it bluntly, she had sexual relations with this man. In an alleyway in the middle of Val Royeaux. Right out in public, where anyone could have wandered by and seen." He paused. "If you still don't believe it, I will be happy to introduce you to Cailan's guard. Perhaps the girl has a . . . birthmark in a private place that you and my eyewitness may both have seen?"

Loghain's breath caught at Howe's last comment, and the anger must have shown in his face, because, for the third time, the color drained from Howe's face, and he took an almost stumbling step backward.

"For what it's worth," Howe added, "she was also seen coming and going from King Cailan's bedroom in the middle of the night, on that same trip to Val Royeaux."

Indeed?

Loghain remembered Rhianna's face when she'd told him what had happened in Highever. The gauntness of her cheeks; the pallor of her skin. The way she sobbed silently and her body trembled in his arms. She had been devastated.

Although not so much that it kept her from bedding the king . . .

A spark of anger flared in his chest. When Loghain told Anora what had happened, she'd been so upset on Rhianna's behalf. So concerned for the girl's welfare. The two women had been friends – or so Loghain believed. Rhianna had been perhaps as close a friend as Anora had ever had.

And still, Rhianna bedded the king. Perhaps this relationship with some Orlesian man wasn't so far-fetched, after all.

"At any rate," Howe continued, "I think it's highly likely she still intends to form an alliance with this man as soon as the Blight has ended, perhaps sooner. Especially now that the Couslands have fallen out of favor, the empress and this cousin of hers could become powerful allies for the girl."

Howe stepped close again, and gestured at the parchments. "Again, you don't have to take my word for it. Read these when you have the time. Letters, in Bryce's own hand, which discuss the arrangement with Cailan and Celene, as well as between his daughter and this royal cousin. There is also discussion of rather generous payments that were to be part of the bargain. And if you still have doubts, I will arrange for you to speak with my eyewitness." He rested his palms on the table and leaned forward. "The Couslands were planning to sell Ferelden to Orlais. A bloodless coup in which Cailan became the Orlesian emperor, Bryce would have been king of an occupied Ferelden, and Rhianna's royal-blooded children would have been Orlesian born. A greater depth of treachery it is hard for me to imagine." He paused. "I suppose we should have seen it coming. It was, after all, Bryce who encouraged Maric to broker that miserable peace treaty ten years ago."

Loghain would never have thought Bryce capable of treason of any sort. But everything did seem to point in that direction.

"Even if this is true, why did you not come to me directly before acting against the Couslands? What call was there to murder the entire family, and the residents of the castle?"

"Come to you directly, Your Grace? I had intended to, certainly. But then this business with the darkspawn began, and you were at Ostagar. With King Cailan. Surely, you can see how dangerous it would have been for me to do anything that might have alerted the king to the fact that we knew what he was planning. And of course, since Bryce was working with the king, there was no point in taking it before Cailan and hoping for justice." He paused. "With everyone occupied in the south, I needed to make certain Bryce did not take steps that could not be undone. Like sending his daughter to marry the cousin while everyone else was looking the other way. Bryce Cousland was my friend for a great many years." The corners of his mouth turned down, his eyes heavy-lidded. "You have to believe I took no pleasure in doing this."

He looked regretful, but Loghain sensed it was all an act. Howe had enjoyed this. He'd been jealous of the Couslands for many years, and this was the opportunity he needed to take them down. All things considered, the man had motive aplenty to manufacture all of this. Which is exactly what Loghain would have believed if Howe had come to him with this story all on its own.

But Howe hadn't manufactured Cailan's tale about Rhianna and the Orlesian cousin. And he hadn't manufactured the night Rhianna spent in Cailan's tent at Ostagar.

Damn it all to the Void, but there must be at least some truth in this. Loghain glanced down at the letters. It really did appear as though Bryce Cousland intended to commit treason. Had already committed treason. It still didn't justify what Howe had done in Highever, murdering an entire castle full of people. That was badly done. But there was no bringing them back from the dead now, and if Bryce - and Rhianna – had genuinely planned to ally themselves with Orlais, badly done or not, it was perhaps a necessary step that Howe had taken.

"What do you want?" Loghain asked. Surely, there would be something. Howe was nothing if not self-serving.

"What do I want?" Howe scoffed, and had the nerve to look offended. "I want nothing, Your Grace. Other than to keep my neck out of the noose, of course. No, far from it. I have come here to offer something to you. I still have much of my army, and I understand you need soldiers to fight the darkspawn. I also have control of the Coastlands, so if things get sticky in the Bannorn as I hear they might, you may find it useful to have my . . . support on that front, as well."

As he'd heard they might? Heard from whom? Esmerelle, most likely. She'd been there to hear the various outbursts from banns earlier in the day.

On the whole, however, Howe's comment about support sounded more like a veiled threat than a genuine offer. Howe knew damned well that if the fractious banns made trouble, Loghain would have to spread his own forces even thinner than they would already have to be spread.

"And," Howe continued, "of course your daughter will need support if she hopes to keep the throne. It is your intention to put her on the throne, is it not?" One corner of Howe's mouth turned up, slightly. "Or did you intend to take the crown for yourself, my lord?"

"The throne is Anora's."

"Of course. In which case, me and my allies will do everything in our power to help her secure it, and to ensure she remains safe throughout this . . . troubled time. Assuming you have changed your mind about having me hanged?"

"Allies?" That most assuredly sounded like a veiled threat.

Howe smiled. "As I'm sure you can appreciate, my lord, when I learned of Bryce's duplicity, it weighed heavily upon me. I did confide in a few, trusted others. Esmerelle, for one . . ."

Esmerelle? She was certainly not someone Loghain could trust, nor had she ever shirked away from the opportunity to grab at power, no matter what was required. Loghain's head throbbed, and he fought back the urge to pound his fist against his temple. Anything, to make the pain stop.

Ferelden could not afford this kind of skullduggery, especially now. Anora's succession to the throne was not guaranteed, and Ferelden needed soldiers, desperately, and Loghain didn't trust the Bannorn to cooperate in any way.

Damn it. Loghain didn't believe Howe's story about the Couslands. Not fully. Not yet. He didn't want to believe any of it, ever.

But unless Loghain was prepared to follow through immediately on his original plan, and have the man hanged for killing the Couslands, there was little choice but to ally himself with Howe. Loghain needed Howe's support. Howe held the north, and still had a sizable number of soldiers.

And, as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, there was a ring of truth to Howe's story. As much as Loghain wished he could dismiss it – all of it – he just . . . couldn't. Not after what Cailan had said upon his return from Orlais.

Andraste's  _arse_. Loghain had thought things couldn't get any worse, but now, they most assuredly had.

Loghain sat back in his chair. "Very well. Join forces with me, and together we will pull Ferelden through this crisis. As painlessly as possible."

"Thank you, my lord. I promise, you will not regret this decision."

Regret? Loghain would have laughed had his headache not returned full force, accompanied by a wave of nausea.

Bryce Cousland, a traitor to Ferelden. This was wholly unexpected.

Of course, it was possible Bryce had not thought himself a traitor. If he was doing what Cailan wanted – helping to arrange this marriage with the empress - Bryce may have thought he was merely serving Ferelden's interests. Or, serving the king's interests, at least. Generally speaking, those two things were one and the same.

Until they weren't.

No. Bryce Cousland was more than intelligent enough to understand that this alliance would have been the end of Ferelden's independence.

When Howe left, Loghain finally picked up the glass of whiskey he'd poured more than an hour ago, his aching head be damned. Surely, the liquor couldn't possibly make his head pound worse than it was already pounding, so perhaps he would drink enough to guarantee a night of sleep.

He drained the glass, and poured himself another.

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in getting this chapter out but, as you probably realized, it's one of the more important chapters in the story, so I wanted to take the time to make sure it was just right. As always, a huge thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Sehnsuchttraum, Amanda Kitswell, and Psyche Sinclair, and to all my lovely reviewers: Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, DarkspawnHorror, Riptide, Nymra, Wendolen, Kenedii, and Bennynotbunny. 
> 
> Also, speaking of place claims, I've begun putting together collections of photos that help set the atmosphere for many of the places we've visited in my story. You can find them in a separate work here, as part of the "Unshaken by the Darkness" series. They will be updated periodically as Rhianna and Co. visit new places.


	24. Nous devons traverser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions travel to Fort Gherlen, in the hope of meeting up with the Orlesian Grey Wardens.

__**19 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Gherlen's Pass** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Gherlen's Pass was the northernmost route through the Frostback Mountains, and the only one that could be safely traveled year round. There were other ways through the mountains - Sulcher's Pass, in particular, was shorter and at least two days faster - but this late in the season, it wasn't wise to risk one of the southern routes. Just about every year, there were stories of travelers caught by the onset of winter. Travelers whose bodies remained buried under tons of snow and ice until the spring thaw.

After three days of nearly constant uphill travel, Rhianna and her companions had nearly reached the border between Ferelden and Orlais. Having never traveled to this part of Ferelden before, Rhianna wasn't sure what to expect. Fort Gherlen stood near the pass - the fortress Loghain and the Night Elves had liberated for a few days during the Occupation - but was there a settlement of some kind, as well? At the very least, Rhianna hoped for an inn where they could buy a hot meal, and find a few minutes of shelter from the chill winds that whipped through the pass, channeled by the mountains on either side.

As the morning progressed, traffic on the road increased in both directions. There were merchants with horse-drawn carts, travelers on foot, and in some cases entire families who looked as though they were carrying all their worldly possessions with them. Most likely, they intended to leave Ferelden, fleeing the darkspawn. Three times, riders in Gwaren livery passed by. There were more dwarves on the road than Rhianna had ever seen before, as well. This was hardly surprising, as the entrance to the dwarven city of Orzammar was not far away.

Finally, just as the sun reached its high point in the sky, the companions arrived at a roadside inn: the Ptarmigan's Rest. There was a good chance this would be the last stop for travelers on the Fereldan side of the border, so they made their way into the common room. Inside, it seemed surprisingly busy for so late in the season. There was only a single, small table open in one far corner of the room, and a din of raucous voices echoed off the walls and the ceiling. While Leliana and the others hurried to claim the table, Rhianna approached the innkeeper to see about some food, and see what gossip she could glean. Surprisingly, Alistair followed along. Things had been tense between the two of them, to say the least, since the argument they had after leaving Rainesfere. They had managed to avoid another shouting match, though, by just ignoring one another most of the time.

The tavern keeper was an older woman, with hair gone grey at the temples. "Good afternoon! What can I get for you?" Her smile was friendly, but she looked tired, as though she hadn't slept well for a few too many days in a row.

"Food, please. Whatever you have that's hot. And ale," Rhianna replied. "For six of us and my hound."

"We've meat pies today. I think pork is all I have left at the moment. Or there's beef stew."

"We'll have pies, please." Anything but stew. They ate stew just about every night, as it was easy to manage over a campfire.

The tavern keeper gave their order to a serving boy, who scampered off to the kitchen.

"It seems awfully busy here," Rhianna said conversationally. "I'm surprised to see this many people on the road."

"Oh aye," the woman replied. "It's much busier than usual. The border's closed at the moment, so some of these people have taken rooms hoping to wait it out, instead of trying to go around another way."

Rhianna blinked. "The border's closed? Completely? Why?"

"By order of Teyrn Loghain. 'Bout two weeks ago, he sent a bunch of soldiers up the pass. And after that, people started coming here, saying they'd been turned away at the border. They were told the guard aren't allowing anyone in or out of Orlais, not through Gherlen's Pass, anyway."

"Loghain," Alistair muttered, but Rhianna shot him a warning look. Regardless of what Alistair believed, Loghain Mac Tir was a hero to the people of Ferelden. Alistair grumbling about the man would only draw suspicion.

"I hope you weren't wanting to get through," the innkeeper continued. "Honestly, if you are, at this point I'd suggest that you head south to Sulcher's Pass and try and get across before the snows come. Or, go north to Highever and catch a ship to Jader. Assuming ships are to be had, what with the troubles they're having in Highever."

Rhianna's stomach lurched uncomfortably. "What exactly have you heard about Highever?"

"The elves revolted, apparently. I heard Teyrn Loghain sent troops there, as well, although it might have been too late for the Cousland family. Word is they're all dead."

Elves? The massacre was being blamed on the elves? That was ridiculous, although if Loghain really had sent troops to Highever, that was a tiny bit of good news. At least Howe would be brought to justice for what he'd done to her family.

"The elves didn't revolt," Rhianna murmured. "The teyrn and teyrna were murdered by the Arl of Amaranthine."

"Murdered by the arl? You don't say? That's a shame, that is. I've heard naught but good things about the Couslands. Just the teyrn and teyrna dead? Well, I hope their children will be able to make things right up there." The woman sighed, and wiped at the counter with a damp rag. "The news isn't good from anywhere, is it? First the darkspawn, and King Cailan dead. And now, there are whispers that something's going on at the mage's tower at Lake Calenhad. Let's hope it's just the mages cooking up something to deal with the darkspawn. Somebody should be, after all."

"There are more Grey Wardens coming from Orlais," Alistair said. "They'll be the ones to take care of the darkspawn."

"Grey Wardens from Orlais?" She frowned. "I don't know if I like the sound of that. The last thing we need is Ferelden full of Orlesian soldiers again. Not to mention all the questions about what they really did at Ostagar."

"Questions?" Alistair leaned forward. "About Ostagar? What sort of questions?"

"Whether or not the Grey Wardens betrayed the king."

Alistair opened his mouth to speak, and Rhianna kicked him under the table. The last thing they needed was for people to realize she and Alistair were Grey Wardens.

"It seems," the innkeeper continued, "they were meant to give Teyrn Loghain the signal to charge, only it never came. Or it came after the king was already dead. I must say, though," she said thoughtfully, "it seems a bit odd. Didn't all the Grey Wardens die at Ostagar? If they knew they were setting the king up to be killed, why would they have been fighting right beside him? That doesn't make any sense now, does it?"

"No," Alistair replied, and glared briefly at Rhianna. "It doesn't make any sense at all."

"I doubt the Wardens betrayed the king," Rhianna added before Alistair could say anything more. "He was killed by darkspawn. There were just too many of them, far more than anyone was expecting."

"Ah, no doubt, that's the truth of things right there," the woman replied. "I keep hearing stories about darkspawn. How they're roaming the countryside, far north of the Korcari Wilds. Monsters that appear out of nowhere, and disappear just as fast." She shuddered. "I'm just grateful that Teyrn Loghain's taking care of things, as always, and he's still got his own army. Thank the Maker they didn't get killed at Ostagar."

"Yes." Rhianna glanced at Alistair. "That is, indeed, a blessing." Rhianna rested an elbow on the bar. "Do you know how large a force Teyrn Loghain sent up the pass?"

"No, not exactly. A couple hundred, at least. I watched them march past, but I didn't bother to count them."

"Do you know if they've let anyone through?" Alistair asked, his voice hopeful. "Anyone at all?"

"Well, all the people here got turned away. But anyone who did get through wouldn't have come back to tell me about it, right? So, I suppose it's possible. You are trying to get through, then, I take it?"

"We hadn't really decided," Rhianna said carefully. "But, we do have business in Orlais that needs to be handled sooner or later." She shrugged, and pushed herself up off the barstool. "Anyway, thank you for your time, and the news. How much do I owe for the food?"

‹›‹O›‹›

After they ate, Rhianna suggested that they go outside and find a place where they could discuss their options without being overheard. They sat under the shelter of an ancient oak tree, one of only a few trees along the rocky mountain pass.

"It appears," Leliana began, "as though your Loghain does not intend to allow the Grey Wardens to come into Ferelden."

"Yes, that's exactly how it looks." Alistair kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot. "He shouldn't be allowed to just close the border, though. What gives him the right to do such a thing?"

"With the king and my father both dead," Rhianna shrugged, "Loghain is the highest ranking noble in Ferelden right now, except for the queen. And he's always been commander of the royal armies. He has every right to close the borders. But," she added before Alistair decided to shout at her again, "we do need to get in contact with the Orlesian Wardens. If they can't get through here at Gherlen's Pass, we'll just have to see about getting them through another way."

"What other way?" Alistair asked.

"The easiest would be to take a boat from Jader. Have them land in Highever, or even Denerim."

"But if the border is closed," Morrigan said, "how do you intend to get in touch with these Wardens and let them know they are needed?"

"They already know they're needed," Rhianna replied. "Duncan wrote to them before Ostagar. But it's possible they haven't been notified of exactly what happened during the battle." She paused. "Since we came all this way, we might as well try to get across the border and find them. I never intended to do that - I thought we'd meet them coming down the pass - but obviously that didn't happen."

"Wait, what?" Daveth arched a brow. "You want to try and cross the border into Orlais?"

"I don't  _want_  to cross the border. I just think it's our best, most expedient option for contacting the other Wardens. It's worth a try, at least."

"This sounds unlikely to succeed," Sten said. "Didn't the woman at the inn say everyone was being turned away?"

"She wasn't sure everyone had been turned away. They might be letting some people through. No doubt, the guards are mostly there to keep Wardens and chevaliers  _out_ of Ferelden. Perhaps, if we're persuasive enough, we can talk them into letting us leave."

"Perhaps." Sten frowned. "But if this general is trying to find the remaining Grey Wardens, he will no doubt have all of his soldiers looking for people matching your descriptions."

"That is true," Leliana said. "But, as Rhianna pointed out, they may be letting some people through. Travelers who do not raise any suspicion, or those the soldiers might feel Ferelden would be better off without?" One corner of Leliana's mouth twisted up into a sly grin.

"What do you have in mind?" Rhianna asked.

"I should think that an Orlesian noblewoman and a Chantry sister who are trying to return to their homeland would not be seen as a threat, and would likely be allowed to pass."

Maker's breath. That just might work.

"So," Rhianna grinned, "which one of us is the Chantry sister?"

"I have no preference. Do you speak Orlesian?"

" _Oui. Je parle Orlésien depuis l'âge de trois ans._  I'm not sure I can speak Fereldan with an Orlesian accent, though."

"No matter. I will be the noblewoman, and do all of the talking. You be the Chantry sister who speaks nothing but Orlesian."

"What about the others?" Rhianna asked.

"Two women traveling with bodyguards would not draw undue attention," Leliana said, with a glance at Sten. "And if we can find a dress for Morrigan, she can also pretend to be from Orlais." Leliana turned to the witch. "Or perhaps you would prefer to wear the Chantry robes?"

"No, thank you." Morrigan shuddered, visibly. "And I have no desire to dress up as a noblewoman, either. Perhaps it would draw less attention if not all of us participated in this particular endeavor."

"Yes, I think that would probably be best," Rhianna agreed. "Leliana and I can go, along with Sten," she turned to him, "if you're willing." Then she turned back to the others. "And everyone else can stay here."

"You . . . you want us to split up?" Alistair shook his head. "I don't like that idea at all. And aren't you worried that someone might recognize you? You and Loghain were such  _close friends_  after all."

Rhianna ignored that last comment, not willing to take the bait and get into yet another argument.

"I don't think that will be a problem," she said calmly. "All the riders we've seen so far have been members of the Gwaren Regulars, and I don't know any of them. I've only spent time around Maric's Shield, who are headquartered in Denerim. I don't think many of the Gwaren soldiers will have any idea what I look like, especially if I'm dressed as a Chantry sister. Even so, approaching the guards at the border  _is_  risky, which is why we should definitely split up. They're looking for a dark haired woman and a man with blonde hair, and perhaps they've even figured out about Daveth by now. It would probably be best if all of Ferelden's Wardens didn't approach the guards together."

"And we'll do something different with your hair," Leliana offered. "We can pull it up in the back, and let some strands in the front hang in your face just a bit. No one will recognize you."

"I don't know about this," Alistair said. "Crossing the border? I'm not convinced any of this is a good idea at all."

"That's why you should stay here," Rhianna said, and before he could protest, she continued, softening her voice. "We need to reach the other Wardens. We need their help. I don't see how you and I and Daveth can possibly do this without them. We don't know how to perform a Joining, or how to kill the archdemon, or . . . anything. So, you, Daveth, and Morrigan stay here with Dane, and Leliana and I, and Sten will go and see if we can't talk the soldiers into letting us through. Once we've found the Orlesian Wardens, I'll send a message with my hawk."

"I can't say as I like it much either," Daveth said, "but like Rhianna said, we can't do this on our own."

Dane whined softly, and huffed his displeasure.

"You're a mabari, love," Rhianna soothed. "Orlesian noblewomen and Chantry sisters don't have mabari."

_I suppose you're right._ He lay down, and rested his face on his outstretched paws.

Rhianna turned to Sten. "Will you come with us?"

"I am willing to come, if you wish me to do so."

"Thank you."

"And just what are we suppose to do in the meantime?" Alistair asked.

"Wait here for a few hours, just in case they won't let us through and we come right back. And then - with or without us - make your way to the other side of Lake Calenhad. We need to find out what's happening with the mages." She paused. "There's an inn on the shores of the lake near Kinloch Hold. It's called . . . something with 'Princess' in the name, I think. You can wait for us there."

Alistair crossed his arms in front of his chest; clearly, he didn't like this plan, but he was the one who told her to make all the decisions, after all. So that's what she intended to do. And he'd said he would do what she asked, go wherever she told him to go. Hopefully he didn't intend to make some sort of a stand right now; she really wasn't in the mood for it.

"All right." He let out a breath, and his shoulders drooped. "If you're not back in two hours, we'll start for the Circle Tower. Probably best for us not to hang around here too long, in case anyone gets suspicious."

‹›‹O›‹›

A trio of travelers left the roadside inn. As they approached the border, groups of soldiers marched past, coming and going from Fort Gherlen, which now loomed up above them to the south.

The fortress was modest in size - just two square towers and a central courtyard surrounded by a curtain wall - but it looked formidable. The walls were high and thick, and their defenses enhanced by the natural cliffs atop which the fortress had been built, cliffs that plunged hundreds of feet down into a gorge.

Maker. What was it Loghain had told her all those years ago? Some of the Night Elves had scaled those cliffs and infiltrated the fortress from below? As impressive as it had seemed when he first told her the story, seeing the place for herself gave her a renewed respect for those elves. It was a long, long way down to the bottom.

So far, no one seemed to be paying much attention to the Chantry sister and noblewoman, although a few people did look twice at their enormous bodyguard. That was to be expected; Qunari were not commonly seen in Ferelden. Leliana looked haughty and beautiful, in an amazing gown of blue and white silks, all ribbons and ruffles and bows - something she'd had with her, as unlikely as that may have seemed. In Leliana's Chantry robes, Rhianna felt both well-disguised, and completely exposed. She missed the comfort and protection of her leathers, and felt almost sacrilegious for wearing robes she had no right to wear. But so far, the disguise was working. Everyone they passed nodded respectfully at her, as Rhianna kept her gaze straight ahead, to avoid eye contact as much as possible.

At the border, they were stopped by a tall man wearing Gwaren armor.

"I'm sorry, but the border is closed by order of Teryn Loghain Mac Tir. No one is to come in or out of the country along this road."

"Que se passe't-il ici ?" Rhianna asked Leliana, even though she knew very well what the man had said.

"Il a dit que nous ne pouvons pas traverser la frontière," Leliana translated.

"Pourquoi donc ?" Rhianna directed her question directly at the soldier, assuming her meaning would be clear.

"I'm sorry Sister, but with darkspawn causing problems throughout the land, the Teyrn wants to make certain no one takes advantage of our country's weakened state by trying to send occupying forces across the border."

"Je ne comprends pas," Rhianna shrugged, and looked to Leliana.

When Leliana had translated his words into Orlesian, Rhianna gave the soldier an unhappy look.

"But ser," Leliana said, "We want to leave Ferelden, not enter. How can we be taking advantage of anything by just going home?"

"I'm sorry, my lady, but you're going to have to find another route. I suggest going to Highever and taking a ship."

"But we  _need_  to get across." Leliana lifted her chin. Her impression of a demanding noblewoman was frighteningly accurate. "The sister and I must get home to Orlais before the weather turns bad."

"Qu'a-t-il dit ?" Rhianna asked.

Again, Leliana translated the man's words for the benefit of the Orlesian "sister."

Rhianna looked at the soldier, and shook her head, as if disappointed with what had been said.

"Just how long has the border been closed?" Leliana asked.

"For the past twelve days, my lady."

"And has anyone been let through in that time?"

"No. Everyone has been turned away, just as you have."

"Hmnh," Leliana put a hand on her hip. "And just how many of those people were 'occupying forces?' I think you are just doing this to cause an inconvenience to innocent people. This is outrageous!"

"As a matter of fact," the guard straightened himself to his full height, "just five days ago, we turned away a rather large force from Orlais. Grey Wardens and chevaliers."

Maker. So they had tried to enter the country, and were denied entry. Five days ago? Damn. No doubt, by now they were halfway back to wherever they'd come from originally. Not that it mattered; it seemed unlikely Leliana would be able to talk the guard into letting anyone through.

Rhianna turned to Leliana. "Dites-lui," she pointed to the guard, "que nous devons traverser."

To the guard, Leliana said, "The sister is very unhappy about this. She wants me to tell you that we must be allowed to cross the border. I know nothing of these Wardens and chevaliers, and to be honest, I don't care. We have important business back home, and it will take us too long to go all the way around. My companion is woman of the cloth. Are you really willing to risk the Maker's wrath over something so inconsequential?"

"Please, ser," Rhianna added, in what she hoped was appropriately accented Orlesian. "We must get across."

Something in his face softened, as though he were genuinely regretful. Even so, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sister, but those are my orders. I don't intend to go against them. Not even for a Chantry sister. I don't know about the Maker's wrath, but I do know about Teyrn Mac Tir's, and if he says no one is allowed through, then no one is allowed through. Now, I'm going to have to ask the two of you and your bodyguard to turn around and be on your way."

Once again, Leliana translated the man's words for Rhianna.

Through narrowed eyes, Rhianna glared at the soldier. "Quel rustre !" Then, she turned and began to walk away.

"What did she say?" the man asked Leliana.

"You don't want to know," Leliana said. "It wasn't a compliment."

Leliana caught up with Rhianna, and Sten fell into step behind them.

Again, no one paid them any attention until they passed a cluster of soldiers who were relaxing around a small fire. There, a man walked up to Rhianna and put a hand on her arm.

"Begging your pardon, Sister." He released her arm, and took a step back once he had her attention. "But me and my fellows, we were wondering, would you be so kind as to give us a blessing? What with the darkspawn about, and all manner of evil across the land, we'd . . . greatly appreciate it."

Staying in character, Rhianna gave Leliana a confused look, and the other woman translated the request.

Rhianna looked at the man and the small group of soldiers who had gathered behind him, their expressions hopeful, shy smiles on their faces.

"Oui," she agreed.

Hopefully the Maker would not be offended. Honestly, the Maker didn't seem to pay enough attention to notice such a thing. Even if He did, if it gave these men some small comfort, Rhianna would gladly suffer whatever consequences the Maker might feel like handing out later. Besides, Leliana would have to translate, and she really had been a lay sister. Perhaps these soldiers would receive a legitimate blessing, after all.

She raised her arm, palm forward as she'd seen Mother Mallol do countless times, and spoke a verse in Orlesian:

_Bénis solent ceux qui ne cèdent pas à la corruption et au mal, et qui jamais ne faiblissent._

Leliana repeated the verse in Fereldan:

_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

_Bénis sont les gardiens de la paix, les champions de la justice._

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

_Bénis soient les justes, les lumières dans les ténèbres._

_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._

_Dans leurs veines coule la volonté du Créateur._

_In their blood, the Maker's will is written._

When she finished, Rhianna bowed slightly to the soldiers, and then turned to walk away. The man who had first approached her hurried after, a gold sovereign in his hand.

"Thank you, Sister." He offered her the coin. "Please, take this."

A gold sovereign. Maker. That was a lot of money, especially for a member of the regular army.

Rhianna put up a hand, and shook her head. "Ce n'est pas nécessaire," she said with a warm smile, so he would know the gesture was appreciated. "Maker watch over you," she added in Fereldan.

"Thank you, Sister. Thank you. And Maker watch over us all."

Finally, the two women were on their way once again, with Sten close behind.

As they passed by Fort Drakon, a trio of riders approached from the east. Rhianna glanced up as she stepped to the side of the road to let them pass, and looked away again quickly when she recognized one of the faces: the guard who had been stationed outside Loghain's tent at Ostagar. The one she'd spoken to on her first afternoon in the city, and again that last night before the battle

Damn.  _Damn_. Why had she looked up just then?

His eyes followed Rhianna as he continued past, and widened slightly.

_Damn!_

"That man," Rhianna whispered to the others. "I've seen him before." She glanced back; sure enough, he had signaled his companions to stop, and was turning his horse around. "Just go along with whatever I say, all right? If we can't talk our way out of this, it's better for me to get captured by myself. Yes?" She caught Leliana's eyes, and then Sten's.

"Agreed," Sten said.

Leliana hesitated, and then her shoulders sagged. "Agreed."

"If that happens, I'll meet you at the inn near Kinloch Hold."

The man reined in his horse beside Rhianna, and slid down to the ground. The other two riders remained on their mounts. "You." His brow creased. "I know you, don't I?"

"Je ne crois pas?" she replied in Orlesian. There was little hope her disguise would work, but it was worth a try, anyway.

"No." He took a step closer. "I definitely know you. You were at Ostagar."

"Excuse me," Leliana said, lifting her chin. "Is there some reason you are harassing a Chantry sister? She says she does not know you. Now, please, leave us alone."

He ignored Leliana, and addressed Rhianna again. "You're no Chantry sister. I remember you. You came to see the teyrn. Twice. And you know as I well as I do that you're one of the Grey Wardens he's looking for now."

"How dare you-" Leliana began, but Rhianna gestured for her to stop.

"It's all right." They weren't going to be able to lie their way out of this. She turned her gaze on the guard. "Yes. I was at Ostagar, but I don't see how that matters now. Can't you just pretend you never saw me? Just let us go, and we'll be on our way again. I don't want any trouble."

"Let you go? Sorry, I can't do that. Teyrn Loghain wants to talk to you. He made that very clear. Look, just come with me now, and there won't be any trouble at all." He craned his neck back to look into Sten's face. "Where's the other one?" He looked at Rhianna again. "There are supposed to be two Grey Wardens, but this fellow certainly doesn't match the description. The blond one? Where's he?"

"I'm not sure," Rhianna lied. "We split up a while ago, and he deliberately didn't tell me which way he was going, so I wouldn't have any information if something like this were to happen." She paused. "But . . . he's probably on his way to Redcliffe to ask the arl for help in fighting the darkspawn."

"Fair enough." The guard shrugged. "I suppose one of you is better than none. Just come along now, all of you. We'll go to the fort and sort out what's to be done with you."

When the guard reached over to grab Rhianna's arm, Sten put a hand on his sword. "Do not touch her," he warned.

The guard took a step back, and reached for his own sword, and the two riders grabbed for their weapons, as well.

"No." Rhianna held up a hand. "Please." She didn't want another scene like the one in Lothering, especially since there was no way she could hope to win this time, not with half an army just up the hill. Besides, this man was just following orders. "It's all right. I'll come with you." She paused. "But just me." She glanced at Leliana and Sten. "These two aren't Grey Wardens, and Loghain won't want anything to do with them. I don't even know their real names. I just hired them to try and help me get across the border."

The guard looked Leliana up and down, and then up at Sten again. "All right. Just you then, but if I see these two again, they won't be given another pass."

"Thank you."

"I don't understand." He frowned. "When you came to see the teyrn, I got the feeling the two of you knew one another pretty well. That you were . . . old friends. So why don't you want to talk to him? Why are you trying to leave the country?"

"I'm not trying to leave the country, not permanently. I just want to contact the Grey Wardens. We're going to need their help if we hope to defeat the darkspawn." She paused. "Please." She bit her bottom lip. "Can't you just let me go? Send a message to Loghain. Tell him I promise to come see him in Denerim as soon as I can."

His brow smoothed. "Look, you seem like a nice person, and I'm half tempted to do as you ask." He shook his head, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "But I answer to Teyrn Loghain, and he was crystal clear on this point: he wants to talk to you, and anyone who sees you is to take you into custody and bring you straight to him. Don't worry. They'll take good care of you in the fort tonight, and tomorrow, we'll leave together for Denerim."

A unit of Gwaren guards marched by on their way to the fort. There really was no hope of fighting their way clear.

"All right. I'll come with you." Rhianna gave a final glance at her companions; Leliana's expression looked stricken, and Sten's face was even more dour than usual, but neither of them tried to interfere.

"That's the smart decision." He gestured with his head toward the fort, but didn't make any move to grab Rhianna's arm again. "Come on. Let's go."

Without looking back, Rhianna followed him toward the fort.

As they crossed the bridge, Rhianna's head spun at the depth of the gorge below. It looked at least as deep as Fort Drakon was tall. To think, the Night Elves had scaled one of those inclines, from the bottom all the way to the top, climbed in over the battlements, and subdued the guards on duty. Back then, the place had been poorly defended with only a skeleton crew; just four guards had been on duty at night, if she remembered correctly.

Now, however, the fort hummed with activity. The portcullis was flanked by half a dozen guards on either side, and in the courtyard, there were soldiers on guard duty, soldiers sparring on the practice ground, soldiers milling about doing not much of anything. It was possible the fort was filled nearly to capacity right now. Even so, surely the place would be quieter in the middle of the night . . .

Loghain's guard turned to Rhianna. "Look." He sounded apologetic. "I'm afraid we'll have to lock you up for tonight. We'll leave first thing in the morning for Denerim, but in the meantime, I don't think it would be a good idea for you to, you know, wander around the fort. But we'll make sure you're as comfortable as possible, yes?"

"All right. If I could just have a bed, and some food?"

"Of course. Like I'll said, we'll make sure you're comfortable."

Rhianna was taken to a room on an upper floor of one of the two towers. Apparently, her "hosts" saw her as neither a threat nor a genuine criminal; the accommodations were better suited to a somewhat unimportant guest. She had a bed, and a chair, and a table with a little vase of flowers upon it. There was an empty chest in which she could have kept her things if they hadn't taken her pack away. They did allow her to retrieve trousers and a shirt first, so she could change out of the Chantry robes, and fortunately, they'd not bothered to check for weapons on her person, so she still had the red steel dagger that was strapped to her leg.

As she was settling in, a soldier brought her some food: a bowl full of hearty stew with chunks of tender meat and vegetables, sliced bread and cheese, and a tankard of ale. Apparently, they had deemed her worthy of sharing the same fare as the soldiers.

In spite of all the small comforts, though, they did lock the door. True, this room was warm, and well lit, and above ground. And she was no longer an eight-year-old child. Even so, at the soft scrape and  _click_  of the key in the lock, a spark of panic burst into life in her chest.

She considered her options.

The easiest thing would be to cooperate fully, and travel with the guard to Denerim. Sit down with Loghain and work everything out, for once and for all. Yes, she was unhappy about the way he had handled this – having her arrested – but she did want to talk to him. And he couldn't truly believe she had anything to do with Cailan's death, so this business about being detained was only temporary. So perhaps going to Denerim would be the best thing to do.

Except her companions would be waiting for her near Kinloch Hold. She didn't want to just abandon them, and following up on these treaties seemed crucial right now. They needed help. Ferelden needed help. Yes, Loghain still had his army, but would it be enough? Considering that four times as many soldiers had not been enough at Ostagar, it seemed unlikely. It was possible that, if Rhianna got a message to the others to let them know what happened, they could carry on without her. Assuming one of them stepped up to take charge. Really, though, it would be best if Rhianna rejoined her companions now. While they were already here in the west, and could get in touch with the mages, and travel to Orzammar to speak with the dwarves, rather than waste the days - weeks, if they traveled on foot - it would take her and the guard to get to Denerim, and then back again. 

Besides, the longer she sat here and thought about it, the more annoyed she became. Loghain had asked his people to take her into custody? To lock her up, like a common criminal? Had all the years they'd spent together meant nothing to him? She fidgeted in her chair, and let out a sigh. That he could even suspect her of any wrongdoing was bad enough, but now, he expected her to spend nights locked away somewhere, when he knew how much she hated it? How much she hated being trapped behind a locked door?

She got up, walked over to the door, and tested the handle. Sure enough, it refused to budge. She crossed to the window. Outside, the sky was beginning to darken as night fell. Soon, cold air would come in through the window – there was no glass; merely bars that crisscrossed the opening – and it was going to be dark, and what if the candle blew out? She had no way of relighting a flame, not without the flint in her pack. And what if they forgot about her, and left her here to starve?

No, that was stupid. Of course they wouldn't forget, and even if they did, the fort was full of people who would hear her if she shouted for help. She wasn't going to be abandoned, or forgotten, or left to freeze to death or starve. But she  _was_  a prisoner.

She walked from the window to the door, and then back again.

She hated being locked up. Hated being told what to do. Hadn't people been telling her what to do her whole life? Her father, agreeing to a marriage without asking her. Loghain, leading her on and then abandoning her. Duncan, forcing her to become a Grey Warden.

Again, her feet walked the path between window and door, and her hands clenched into fists.

She'd had enough of people telling her what to do, of forcing her into things she didn't want. And she'd already had enough of sitting here behind this locked door, waiting and hoping for mercy. Not that she'd require mercy – surely, Loghain wasn't really that angry with her. But it was the principle of the matter, and anyway, she'd much rather meet him on neutral ground. Not as his prisoner, but as equals. She didn't want to spend even a single night as anyone's prisoner.

In which case, she would simply have to escape. 

She could wait, leave with the guard in the morning, and make a break for it while he was asleep. There were multiple ways this plan could fail, though. Probably, they'd send more than just the one guard, which would make sneaking away more difficult. And they might insist on restraining her in some way. Plus, if she were caught in the act, she might have to defend herself, and she really didn't want to have to kill innocent soldiers who were just following the orders they'd been given.

All those years ago, the Night Elves had scaled the walls, after approaching from the south, from Sulcher's Pass. If the Night Elves had climbed in, she could climb out again, and then find her way along whatever path they used to get here. She didn't have to worry about being attacked by wild animals, and with any luck the darkspawn hadn't made their way up into the mountains. She'd just have to make good time and get back to the lowlands before the weather turned bad.

Yes. That's what she'd do. She couldn't bear to stay here under lock and key, and she couldn't afford the time to play whatever game Loghain had in mind. As soon as the fort had grown quiet for the night, she'd pick the lock, and go over the wall.

‹›‹O›‹›

Long after the sun had gone down, when the sliver of waxing moon had risen high in the sky, Rhianna slipped out of bed. The lock was a simple matter to pick, with a hairpin that had been tucked behind her ear.

She eased open the door to find that no one stood guard in the hallway. Apparently, they didn't consider her likely to cause any trouble.

Good. That would make things much easier.

Rhianna crept down the hall to the south, and peered around the corner. Another short section of hallway led into a common room, where two guards sat together and played cards.

She went back and followed the hall to its other end. Here, she found what she needed: a stairway that went up, most likely to the roof. But first, she needed a few supplies. She listened at the closest door, and heard nothing, so she picked the lock. It was a bedroom, very similar to the one in which she had been placed.

And someone was asleep in the bed.

Gently, she eased the door closed again.

All was quiet behind the next door, as well, but this one was unlocked. It turned out to be a storage closet where Rhianna found not only her own pack, but also a variety of other supplies. She took two hanks of rope, along with a full water skin and some food rations, and slipped the familiar weight of her pack onto her shoulders.

Yes. That would do nicely.

At the top of the stairs, she found another hallway that appeared to give access to still more bedrooms. Most likely, one of these was the very door Uthalas had pounded upon all those years ago, when he demanded the Orlesian commander surrender to him. That night, Loghain and the Night Elves had taken as few lives as possible. They even allowed the Orlesian commander to live.

Tonight there would be no banging on doors, and hopefully no taking of lives. With any luck, she would be long gone before her absence was noticed.

She continued down the hall, and found a spiral staircase that led up into the open air. This took her to the very top of one of the two towers, and she moved carefully out into the moonlight. She could see a guard across the way, atop the second tower, but fortunately, no one was posted near where Rhianna now stood. Keeping low, she peeked into the courtyard below. There was still a fair amount of activity. There were guards on duty, while off-duty soldiers sat together and drank, and played dice or cards. Mabari hounds lounged in a pile together, and, in an out-of-the-way corner where they thought no one could see, a couple was locked in an embrace.

She moved to the far corner, and peered over the edge. If she climbed down the side of the tower, she could secure her rope to the battlements of the curtain wall. Yes, that made the most sense.

When the guard across the way has his back to Rhianna, she hopped over the wall, free-climbed to the lower level, and tied her rope securely around one of the crenellations in the wall. She glanced down; in the darkness, she couldn't even see the bottom of the gorge.

_Please, Andraste, let the rope reach all the way to the bottom._

Satisfied the knot would hold, she gave the rope a final tug, and swung herself over the edge. The wall was easy to climb – its stones were irregular, and nicely spaced to give ample footholds as she clung to the rope and inched her way slowly downward.

Just as she made it to the bottom of the curtain wall, and began her descent down the mountain itself, the harsh clang of a bell split the night air.

Was it midnight? She didn't remember hearing the bell toll for other hours, though. Which probably meant it wasn't for the time at all.

It was an alarm.

_Maker's balls_. Had they discovered she was gone?

Now, in addition to the bell, faint shouts could be heard.

Definitely an alarm.

She quickened her pace, which was difficult as there were fewer footholds on the cliff face than there had been on the curtain wall. She tested each foothold before committing to it, to make certain the rocks and ledges would hold her weight.

Sure enough, one crumbled beneath her foot, and she tightened her grip on the rope as she struggled to keep her balance. With a deep breath, she stretched her leg just a bit farther until she found another place to step, and continued to feel her way down the mountain.

She glanced into the darkness beneath her; now, thankfully, she could see the ground below, but it was still alarmingly far away, and she couldn't tell if the rope reached the very bottom. Either way, she would certainly not survive a fall from this height.

Forcing all thoughts and fears and worries from her mind, she took one step after another.

"Over here! I found her! She's going down the wall!"

Rhianna glanced up to see a torch flicker above her head. Damn, damn,  _damn._

Rhianna hurried her pace yet again. If she didn't get away now, they'd probably slap her in irons, and it would be much more difficult to make an escape, after one failed attempt.

Again, a chunk of rock broke off beneath her foot; she slipped and hung by her hands on the rope.

Before she could regain her footing, she felt a tug from above. A trio of guards had taken hold of the rope, and were trying to haul her back up to the top.

No, no, no. She couldn't continue to climb down, not with them pulling on the rope like that, and it would be suicidal to try and free climb from this height. There was only one thing she could do. When she'd begun her climb, she'd left her hands bare, not wanting to be hindered by the thick leather of her gauntlets. Now, she regretted that decision.

Another tug. She was lifted a foot higher, and then another, and now the barking of hounds echoed off the cliff walls.

With a deep breath to brace herself against the pain that was to come, she shoved herself backward with her feet, and loosened her hold on the rope enough to slide down it, but with enough of a grip that her descent would hopefully be slowed as she hurtled toward the ground.

_Please Andraste, let there be enough rope._

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my lovely beta readers, Sehnsuchttraum, Amanda Kitswell, and Psyche Sinclair, and also to all my wonderful reviewers: Nymra, KatDancer, Irish_Changeling and Wendolen. 
> 
> See my separate work for place claim photos of Gherlen's Pass.


	25. A generous offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funeral is held for King Cailan Theirin.

__**20 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Denerim** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

A wooden pyre stood at the center of the Denerim market. No body was laid out upon it; there was merely an empty suit of clothing that had once belonged to King Cailan Theirin. As people began to fill the marketplace, the sun came out from behind the clouds, and burned away the last of the morning haze, filling the square with a blinding, overly harsh light.

This was all too reminiscent of another funeral, held just three years ago for Maric. The pyre, built by Loghain's own hands. Clothing in place of the body that had not been recovered. A crowd of people who filled the square, and overflowed into the streets beyond.

On that day, Loghain hadn't wanted to believe Maric was dead. To be honest, some part of him still refused to believe it. Today, however, there was no such hope alive in his heart for Cailan. If he had managed to survive, both the battle and an escape through the surrounding wilderness, he would have turned up somewhere by now, or a demand for ransom would have been made. But darkspawn take no prisoners - none who have ever returned from such an ordeal, at any rate. And Cailan had never bothered to cultivate the skills that would have helped him survive this long out in the woods on his own.

No. Cailan was most assuredly dead.

The citizens of Denerim seemed to sense this, as well. Most of the people who now crowded the market square made no attempt to hide their grief for their fallen king. There were no hopeful looks, no laughter, no cheerful conversations. Instead, quiet sobs and whispered laments filled the air. In this, the atmosphere was different from the day of Maric's wake. Maric had been loved, truly, but in the two years that followed his disappearance, the grief felt by his subjects had faded. Maric's wake had been an opportunity to say goodbye, long after the initial shock and sadness had worn away.

Today, the grief was still raw. For all his faults, Cailan had been well loved by his people: the golden haired, handsome young prince who had taken the throne when his beloved father disappeared unexpectedly. The people of Ferelden knew little of Cailan's weaknesses, of the betrayals he committed, and others he'd had planned. This was a blessing, now that he was gone. If it brought comfort, let them hold his unsullied memory dear in their hearts.

Grand Cleric Elemena stepped up to the pyre and raised her hands, and the crowd fell silent. Loghain blinked and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight as he turned to face her.

_"All men are the work of our Maker's hands,_  
 _From the lowest slaves t_ _o the highest kings."_ __  


At Loghain's side, Anora stood with her shoulders straight, and her chin held high. Her eyes were dry, and her mouth a thin, grim line. She wore all black, and her skin was so pale it looked almost translucent. She looked delicate. Vulnerable. Fragile. As though a misplaced word might shatter her composure. Not that this would happen. It never had before, certainly not in public, and rarely even in private.

His heart ached for her for so many reasons, but he didn't dare reach out to her, or attempt to comfort her as he had done on his return to Denerim. Not today. Today, she would barely make eye contact with him. She was still angry - furious - about the revelation that Loghain had chosen to ally himself with Rendon Howe. He'd gone to see her the previous evening, dreading what she would say but knowing he had to tell her, before she caught word of it from someone else.

"How  _could_ you?" She had clenched her fists and stepped up to him, and he'd almost feared she intended to hit him. "How could you listen to a single word he had to say before calling the guard to have him arrested? Blessed Andraste! He murdered Bryce and Eleanor, and little Oren, and Oriana, and Maker knows how many other people! And you've  _allied_  yourself with him? Have you lost your mind?"

"Anora, please. Just listen-"

"Listen to what? Listen to you repeat whatever lies Rendon Howe must have told you, in order for you to have done something so monumentally stupid?"

He blinked in surprise at the insult, and at the heat in her tone. Maker's balls. Loghain had never seen his daughter this angry before.

"I don't like this any more than you do, but I didn't have much of a choice."

"Of course you had a choice," she snapped. "There's always a choice."

"Anora, stop!" He raised his voice, and immediately regretted it. Forcing himself to use a quieter tone, he continued, "Just hear me out. I know Rendon Howe is not to be trusted. But he had proof for everything he told me. Letters and eyewitnesses."

"Proof? Of what?"

"That Bryce Cousland had gotten himself tangled up with Orlais. Quite thoroughly."

"Bryce? Involved with Orlais? I don't believe it, and neither should you." She closed her eyes, and took in a breath before opening them again. "Just what it is Bryce is meant to have done, anyway?"

"He . . . he had begun to negotiate a new peace treaty with the empress, one with provisions that significantly benefited the Cousland family. He planned to have Rhianna marry Celene's first cousin, and he . . ." Loghain took a deep breath. Maker. There was absolutely no way to break news like this gently. "He was encouraging Cailan to set you aside and marry Empress Celene. Once Cailan was Emperor of Orlais, Bryce hoped to rule here in Ferelden."

"What?" Anora's face went pale, and she put a hand on the back of a nearby chair. Her breath sped up as she caught and held his gaze. "You said there is proof of this? More than just Howe's word?"

"Yes. Documents. I studied them carefully; they are in Bryce's own hand, sealed with his ring. There are also various eyewitnesses."

"Eyewitnesses." She frowned. "Supplied by Howe himself?"

"One of them, yes, but there was outside corroboration of Rhianna's involvement with this royal cousin."

"You can't possibly believe Rhianna Cousland could have been involved in treason of any kind." Anora's eyes flashed and she leaned close. "Or that Eleanor was."

"Not Eleanor. Howe made it clear that Eleanor knew nothing. It appears as though this was almost entirely Bryce's doing. As for Rhianna . . . I still do hope she will prove to have been an unwitting participant, and didn't recognize the full threat her actions posed."

"What threat?" Anora scoffed. "Even if she were to marry this cousin, what would it have mattered? To be honest, I always expected a foreign marriage for her. Not with someone from Orlais, perhaps, but there was no one here in Ferelden she could have wed without marrying beneath her station."

Except Loghain himself. Of course, Anora had no idea about the relationship Loghain and Rhianna had once shared, and he had no intention of telling her now. Or ever.

"But it does matter," Loghain replied. "Rhianna is a descendent of Calenhad. She has a solid claim to the throne of Ferelden, as will her children."

"Perhaps, but a claim to the throne would only get her so far. It's difficult for me to believe the Landsmeet would ever put an Orlesian-born noble on throne, even if that child was a descendent of Calenhad."

"But if Ferelden were annexed by Orlais, and Bryce sat on our throne . . ."

Anora's shoulders sagged, just slightly. "That still doesn't makes it treasonous. Rhianna would never deliberately betray Ferelden. She bears Calenhad's Cross and was named a friend of Ferelden for life, or have you forgotten? I can't imagine she has."

"That was a long time ago," Loghain said softly. "People change."

"Do they?" Anora crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You said there was another witness who corroborated the story? One not supplied by Howe? Who was it? I would like to talk to this person myself."

"I'm . . . I'm afraid that won't be possible. The other witness was . . . well, it was Cailan. After he returned from Orlais, he told me he'd seen Rhianna with this man. Seen her . . . kissing him."

"Oh." Anora blinked, and her eyes grew bright. "Oh. Yes. He said something about that to me, as well, but I didn't believe it. I thought he was mistaken, or had exaggerated an Orlesian greeting that might have seemed overly familiar by our standards." She paused. "But perhaps there was something more to it." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Even so, I don't believe any of it could have been meant to harm Ferelden. I honestly can't believe any of the Couslands would do such a thing. Especially Rhianna." She caught his gaze and held it. "You don't believe she committed treason, do you? You can't believe it. The two of you were friends. Such good friends for so many years."

"I . . ." A heavy weight settled in his stomach. "I don't know to what to believe. I honestly don't. I certainly don't trust anything that comes out of Rendon Howe's mouth, but the evidence he provided is . . . compelling. Perhaps more to point, we need him. What he did in Highever was atrocious, and I don't condone any of it, but what's done is done, and now we need his support. We need his soldiers to fight the darkspawn, and to keep the Orlesians at bay. We also need his good will in the north. If he joins with the Bannorn against us, there will be a civil war we can't possibly win."

Her eyes flashed. "He won't join with the Bannorn against you or anyone else if I send my guards to have him arrested, and hanged in the courtyard of Fort Drakon at dawn." She crossed her arms in front of her again. "I should put his Maker-damned head on a pike in front of the palace for what he did in Highever."

"Do you think I don't feel the same?" He reached up and put a hand on her shoulder. "I know Howe is a snake, but we need his military support if we hope to get Ferelden through this crisis with the darkspawn."

She took a deep breath, as though she meant to argue, but then she exhaled, crossed the room and lowered herself into a chair by the window.

"I hate this. I hate everything about it. And I refuse to believe Rhianna had any intention of betraying Ferelden. Ever."

Would she still feel that way if she knew the truth about that last night at Ostagar?

"I hate it, too, but this is necessary, for now. After we've gotten everything under control again, and you've been confirmed by the Landsmeet, perhaps Howe can be held accountable for what happened in Highever. But for now, you'll just have to trust me that this is for the best."

She hadn't replied; she'd merely stared out the window.

It was only after Loghain had left her and returned to the Gwaren estate that he realized she hadn't asked for proof of Cailan's involvement in any of this. Hadn't asked for evidence that he intended to set Anora aside, or marry the empress. She'd defended Rhianna, and even Bryce, but never once questioned that one particular bit of news. Not once.

She must have had no difficulty believing that part of the story.

Now, she stood at his side as the Grand Cleric spoke words from the Chant. Anora was so close he could have reached just a few inches and taken her hand, but never in his life had he felt more distant from her as he did in this moment. She stared at the pyre, unblinking, and there was no sign of it in her face, but her anger was palpable. He could only imagine the thoughts that must be going through her head right now. And he would have to imagine them; she was unlikely to confide in him again anytime soon.

Or ever, perhaps.

If only there had been some way to avoid telling her the truth about Cailan's plans, but she had needed to know. Deserved to know. Loghain had even thought that knowing the truth might have made it easier for her to bear Cailan's death. He'd been wrong about that though. Dreadfully wrong. Just by looking at her face, at her posture - the way she held herself so carefully - it was obvious that knowing the truth hadn't made things easier. Instead, it made them immeasurably worse, and had most likely tainted every good memory she had of the time they'd shared together.

Damn Cailan. Damn his stupidity, and his faithless heart. The man had loved Anora, but he'd been a bigger fool than Loghain could have ever imagined. And, as had happened so many times in the past, Anora was the one to suffer the cost.

At least Loghain had been able to spare her one small piece of the truth; she didn't know about Rhianna's involvement with Cailan, and that was a secret Loghain intended to keep. Still, it seemed small consolation now, considering the look on Anora's face as she stared, dry-eyed, at her husband's pyre while Elemena spoke the words of the funeral service.

_Those who bring harm_  
 _Without provocation to the least of His children_  
 _Are hated and accursed by the Maker._ __  


"We come here today to honor the spirit of our beloved king, Cailan Theirin, who was taken from us far too soon. We ask Andraste to guide his spirit to the side of the Maker, and that the Maker give the king an eternal home at His side.

" _Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
_ _From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.  
_ _Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
_ _In my arms, lies Eternity."_ __  


At a nod from the Grand Cleric, three young women stepped forward to sing the traditional dirge. Not the same three who had sung for Maric, of course. Delilah Howe had not been seen in Denerim for more than a year, Anora would not sing the dirge for her own husband, and Rhianna Cousland was Maker-knows-where, doing her best to evade Loghain's guards. Instead, Habren Bryland, Tanith Curwen, and Alfstanna Eremon would sing the words to guide Cailan's spirit to the Maker, assuming he could pass the tests.

_"If ever thy gave of thy silver and gold_  
Every nighte and all.  
In City o' Black thou find'st foothold  
Maker receive thy soul

_If silver and gold thou ne'er gave'st nane_  
 _Every nighte and all._  
 _Down thou'st fall where Darkspawn remain_  
 _Maker receive thy soul"_ __  


Would Cailan pass the tests? He had been selfish and stubborn and thoughtless, especially with people he was supposed to have loved. So many of his actions left a swath of hurt feelings in their wake, and Cailan seemed never to even notice. Even so, he'd had a good heart. Had greeted each day with optimism and cheer, and seemed to genuinely believe in the goodness of people. And he had trusted in the Maker. No matter how angry Loghain might have been with the lad, he genuinely hoped this trust would not now be denied, and Cailan would pass the tests, and find peace at the Maker's side.

When the song ended, just as he had done at Maric's funeral, Loghain lowered the torch to set the pyre ablaze.

‹›‹O›‹›

Anora had organized a wake, to be held in the palace after the funeral. It's likely no one would have faulted her if she'd chosen not to hold one, considering the situation in the south, but she had insisted. Said it was the least she could do to honor his life, and the lives of the others who died at Ostagar.

Within minutes, however, Loghain regretted that it had been necessary for him to attend. Everything about being here made him uncomfortable in one way or another. When he had paid his respects to Anora, she'd nodded curtly and turned away. It was clear she wanted nothing at all to do with her father just now. Not that he blamed her, but it stung, nonetheless. It was also difficult to watch the nobles as they performed their grief. In some cases, no doubt, it was genuine, but not everyone had liked or approved of the young king. Today, of course, nearly everyone wore a long face and some of the women sniffed into their handkerchiefs, and it all seemed so contrived. Or perhaps it was just that listening to everyone speak warmly about Cailan - all the while completely unaware of the things the king had planned for the future - was difficult to stomach.

And of course, there were questions, posed in loud whispers carefully designed to be overheard.

"Just how  _did_  the king end up dead on the battlefield? Wasn't the army supposed to protect him?"

"It's difficult to know, isn't it, what  _really_  happened at Ostagar?"

Questions posed by people who hadn't been there. People who hadn't put their own lives at risk, nor their own soldiers. It did seem, though, that – at least within Loghain's hearing - most people were satisfied to blame the Grey Wardens.

Those things were unpleasant, but hardest of all was the way this wake dredged up memories of the day they'd sent Maric to his eternal rest. Loghain was battered anew by the loss of the man who had been his best friend throughout most of his life. Even worse, he was battered by the loss of the young woman who had stood by his side on that day three years ago. Rhianna had joined him in the market square and held his hand as he watched the empty pyre burn. She'd sat with him in Gwaren House, and forgiven him for not telling her the truth about what he'd found on that damned island. She had held him when he cried. He could still remember, vividly, the comfort of her arms around him, the warmth of her breath against his hair. Later, he'd found her in the garden, panicked and trembling, after Vaughan had attacked her.

Rarely in his life had he been as angry as he was on that night. He'd been angry the next day, as well, when she'd blamed herself for what happened to Catrin. That day, he'd made Rhianna swear that no matter what, she would always put her own safety first. That she would never sacrifice herself for someone else's sake.

A wave of nausea hit him. There was a time, not so very long ago, when he'd truly believed the two of them would be together. They might have been married now. She would have been here at his side today, with a gentle hand on his arm, a ready smile to ease him through whatever trials this day had brought. She would have whispered encouraging things into his ear, or made biting but never quite unkind observations about the others in attendance. And later, they would have sat beside a roaring fire, and he could have pulled her into his arms . . .

He forced those thoughts away. It was far too painful to think of such things now, of the wreck he had made of his life. Of what might have been, if only Bryce had said yes-

Loghain blinked. What was it Bryce had told him when Loghain asked for Rhianna's hand? Bryce had said his refusal was based solely on Loghain being the wrong sort of man to wed Rhianna, and there was no other betrothal in place.

That was almost certainly not true. Given the timing of things, it made much more sense that Bryce already had a marriage in mind with this Orlesian cousin. Perhaps there was no formal betrothal yet; that probably didn't happen until the visit to Orlais. In which case, Bryce might not have told an actual lie, but he'd been dishonest, nonetheless.

More importantly, though, this meant Rhianna could not have known anything about it, not then at least. Perhaps she really hadn't been complicit in any of this. Maker, that was what he wanted to believe. What he wanted desperately to believe.

He needed to talk to her. Needed to hear from Rhianna's own lips what had happened. If only she'd agreed to come to Denerim with the guards . . .

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approach, and turned to offer a greeting.

"Bann Nicola."

"Hello, Teyrn Loghain." She gave a half-hearted smile and glanced around the great hall. "What a somber event this is. To be quite honest, I never expected anything like this to happen. Cailan was so young. So full of smiles and optimism. It's a very strange feeling indeed, to realize that he is gone from this world."

"Yes, it is."

She sighed, and then turned her gaze back to Loghain. "I wonder if later in the day, you might have a few minutes to spare. There are some things I'd like to speak with you about."

That was intriguing.

"Of course," he replied. "To be honest, I don't have much interest in staying here any longer. If you like, we could walk out in the garden. Or go to Gwaren House for tea. Or something stronger."

"I wouldn't turn down a whiskey just now, if your liquor cabinet is up to the challenge."

After seeing nothing but Anora's unsmiling profile most of the day, a conversation with Bann Nicola – who didn't seem inclined to blame Loghain for Cailan's death, or anything else - would be most welcome.

"Trust me." He offered her his arm. "My cabinet is definitely up to that challenge."

‹›‹O›‹›

Half an hour later, they were settled in the library of the Gwaren estate. Loghain and Nicola each had a glass in their hands: eighteen-year-old single malt distilled on the northern shore of a tiny island off the coast of Gwaren. Its scent was a perfect blend of peat and smoke, and each sip demanded another; it truly was a magnificent whiskey.

"Ah." Nicola sighed appreciatively. "It was well worth the walk across town for this alone. It's perfect. Smoke and brine. Nuts and . . ." She inhaled deeply. "Toffee. From Ardnahoe, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yes, it's from Ardnahoe. I will be disappointed when this bottle is gone. It's the last one I have here in the city, although with any luck my seneschal has a couple more stashed away in Gwaren."

"Have you ever been to the island? If I'm not mistaken, there's a rather famous standing stone there, is there not? Said to mark the place where King Calenhad's pyre was immolated?"

"That is the legend, yes, although I've never been particularly convinced of its veracity. No one really knows what happened to Calenhad after he disappeared, and it's easy enough to for anyone to claim that he was put to his final rest in their backyard. And to answer your first question, no, I've not been to the island, although on a clear day it is visible from the castle." He took another sip of his whiskey. "I must say, this conversation is something of an unexpected pleasure. I haven't had many visitors since my return from the south."

"Really? I find that surprising. I should think a great many people would wish to talk to the new regent."

"Apparently not. Most of them seem intent on gossiping about things they know little about, while tucking their tails between their legs. Or sticking their heads in the sand while they pretend the presence of Orlesian chevaliers at the border poses no genuine threat."

Nicola relaxed into the sofa, and took a sip of her drink. "I do understand some of their concerns. They're panicked about the darkspawn, and not without good reason. But," she took another sip and paused to savor it on her tongue. "I also see the larger picture here. I think part of the problem is some of the new blood in the Landsmeet. Youngsters like Vaughan and Tanith, who didn't live through the Occupation, and don't share the same sense of history as you and I. You're right to keep your eye on Orlais. By now, the empress knows full well the losses the army suffered at Ostagar. I can't imagine she is not considering how best to take advantage of our weakness."

"That's what I fear, as well. She's already tried to use the darkspawn as an excuse to get chevaliers across our border, along with the supposedly neutral Grey Wardens, who might well have been directly responsible for Cailan's death."

"Do you really believe that?" Nicola looked at him intently. "Did the Grey Wardens intend for Cailan never to leave that battlefield alive?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know. All I know for certain is that he fought alongside them, and their supposedly legendary skills didn't keep him alive." He let out a sigh. "Whether or not they intended to murder him? I don't want to believe it. I truly don't, but they've not done anything to ease my suspicions. At any rate, there are only a few Wardens left in Ferelden now, so whether or not they were complicit in Cailan's death, I don't imagine they pose much of a threat. Either way, we're going to have to deal with the darkspawn on our own."

"To be honest, that's the main reason I came here today. To find out how I can be of support. I know things are tense here in Denerim and across the rest of the nation. Understandable, of course. People are scared. My lands are in the north, so perhaps the darkspawn seem less of an urgent threat to me as they do to those further south. Although," she paused, "with the situation in Highever being so precarious, I am trying to keep an eye on things in the north."

She took another sip of whiskey, and Loghain waited for her to ask about the Couslands, but the question never came.

"I wouldn't be surprised," she continued, "if Orlais tried to enter the country via that port. At any rate, I do still have soldiers at my command, and I am more than willing to offer them to you, to deploy wherever you deem they can be of the most use. The Bannorn is already beginning to make uncomfortable noises, led by Bann Bronach." She shrugged. "His cousin was the Grand Cleric during the Occupation; to be honest I've never been fond of the fellow." Before Loghain could reply, she continued, "More than anything, I would like to see Anora keep her throne. She's earned it, with her dedication over the years. That is your intention, is it not? To keep your daughter on the throne?"

"Of course. What else would you have me do?"

"Me? Absolutely nothing. As I said, I want Anora to keep her crown. But there's been talk that you, perhaps, have some intention of taking the throne yourself?"

"Me? Take the throne? No." Loghain laughed. "Absolutely not. I took the regency to keep the banns from squabbling, and make certain we don't have some pretender try to take the throne before a Landsmeet can be convened. But I intend my governance to be an interim measure, nothing more."

"Good. Not that I don't think you would make a fine king." A smile played upon her lips. "But I think we can both agree that your daughter is undoubtedly a more skilled politician." She winked.

"Yes, on that we can most assuredly agree."

"I've also heard rumors that there may be another claimant. More than one, perhaps. Whispers that Eamon Guerrin may wish to capitalize on his connection with the late queen. Although . . . very recently I have also heard whispers that the arl might not be in adequate health for such a ploy." She arched a brow. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Ah. The blood mage must have gotten the job done, then.

Loghain met her gaze. "Eamon has fallen ill? Pity. With any luck it will prove only temporary." He shrugged, and leaned back into the sofa. "It is convenient timing, I'll say that much, if it keeps him out of Denerim until the throne can be secured for Anora."

Nicola smiled, as though a suspicion had been confirmed. Then she leaned closer. "I have no genuine concerns about Eamon making a successful bid for the crown. I can't see many of the banns, other than a very few in the south, and perhaps his brother, wanting him on the throne. He has no real claim, no more than any of the rest of us, and he's too conservative, I think, for the current climate. Especially now that we have a variety of threats at the doorstep. It will be remembered that he was too young to have fought in the Rebellion. At this time, an experienced queen with the support of her father - a known war hero - will be much better received." She paused. "I do, however, have concerns about another rumor I've heard."

"Which one?"

"That some bastard of Maric's has resurfaced."

This caught him by surprise. "What, exactly, have you heard?"

"That the boy was born here in Denerim, but raised in Redcliffe. In Eamon's household, as a matter of fact, until he was shipped off, strangely enough, to the Chantry, to be trained as a templar. And then, in another unlikely circumstance, recruited by the Grey Wardens."

Nicola was remarkably well-informed. Very few people knew about the boy's existence, and most of those believed him the son of a Redcliffe serving girl, a story fabricated by Eamon. And, judging by her expression, not only did Nicola know her information was correct, but she knew Loghain would realize it was somewhat unusual for her to have this knowledge.

Very interesting. And possibly troubling. Why, exactly, had Nicola come to him with this?

"Your intelligence is excellent," Loghain admitted. "And yes, this lad was one of the Grey Wardens who appear to have walked away from Ostagar."

"Along with Rhianna Cousland. And another man."

"Another man?" A third Grey Warden had survived?

"Yes," Nicola replied. "A common thief, from what I've been able to gather. Born in the south, but recruited right here in Denerim, where he was making some sort of living for himself picking pockets in the marketplace."

Nicola's ability to gather information was impressive, to say the least. That was one area where Loghain had always felt inadequate. He didn't have the patience to deal with the sort of people who collected such information. Maric had a network of spies, as did Anora, but Loghain himself had never cultivated those sorts of relationships. Apparently, Bann Nicola had. And done a proper job of it. Did the fact she was here now, discussing such matters, suggest she would be willing to allow him to benefit from her connections? She'd done it once before: the revelation that Eamon had been behind the assassination attempt the previous year had come from her. If that was her purpose, though, just what was it the woman would want in return? She'd said her interest was seeing Anora remain on the throne, but that seemed rather too simple to be the whole truth. People rarely offered things out of the blue like this with no hope of being rewarded.

Loghain kept his tone even. "Interesting. It sounds as though a pickpocket is unlikely to pose any particular sort of threat, politically at least. And," Loghain mused aloud, "if he was born here in Ferelden, perhaps he's not merely a pawn for the Orlesians. Although, being a thief, he might be willing to do just about anything for the right sum."

"True. I do find it difficult to believe that same statement would apply to young Lady Cousland, however. She never struck me as the sort of women whose loyalty could be purchased." Nicola's voice was gentle. "If I'm not mistaken, you yourself were close to her at one time? I do recall that you danced with her on the night my grandson was killed."

Did this woman know  _everything_?

"Yes, Rhianna and I were friends for a great many years. And I would like to hope that she's not . . . involved with Orlais, in some way. I'm afraid, though, that at this time I can't afford to take any chances. There are wolves at every door, and I am determined that Ferelden will be strong enough to keep from being devoured, whatever it might take."

"No one with any sense would ever doubt that. There is no one in Ferelden other than you I trust to take us through this crisis." Nicola held his gaze. "Again, this is why I have come. So you will know that all the services I have to offer are at your disposal. And, so you will have a better understanding of just what services I might be able to provide. Soldiers, of course. And if information is required - information I might be able to obtain - you have only to ask."

"Thank you. That is a generous offer."

Perhaps too generous. No doubt, she would eventually want something in return. In the meantime, however, it seemed she had access to intelligence that could prove useful – crucial, even – to facing the challenges ahead. Surely, there was no harm in taking her up on her offer, while keeping his eyes and ears open to any suggestion that she had motives that conflicted with Loghain's own.

He leaned forward. "I understand that Rhi- . . . that Lady Cousland might have traveling companions beyond the two Wardens you mentioned. An apostate, and perhaps even a Chantry sister? If you happen across anything that might identify these two women, I would be glad of it."

"Of course." She smiled warmly. "I will more than happy to see what my sources can discover."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, and Amanda Kitswell, and also to all my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, HAG1686, Irish_Changeling, and Nymra.
> 
> I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter; I spent last week at a wildlife conference where I gave a presentation about my research, and I just didn't have the mental energy to do much of anything else. On the plus side, my talk went really well! I will try to get the next chapter posted promptly, considering we left poor Rhianna literally hanging from the side of a cliff. ;)


	26. Contained at all costs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions arrive at Kinloch Hold.

__**27 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**The Spoiled Princess** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Morrigan grew weary of this waiting.

The others didn't really seem to mind. They sat around a table near the fire and chattered about . . . whatever it was that came into their heads, apparently. It was rarely anything worth the waste of breath. Alistair badgered Sten into talking about what he did all those days he spent in the cage in Lothering (although, to Sten's credit, he never did give a satisfactory answer). Leliana went on about shoes, of all things, and Daveth told bawdy jokes, although that, at least, was entertaining.

This morning, Morrigan wasn't in the mood for any of it, so she found a table in the corner, far enough away that it was unlikely they would bother her directly, but close enough to keep an ear on the conversation in the unlikely event anything interesting was discussed. Dane, too, seemed uninterested in socializing with the others, and had come to sit at Morrigan's side. Fortunately, she noticed where he had placed his head in time to move her feet before they were drooled upon.

They had been at the Spoiled Princess for three days now, and Morrigan itched to be away from it again. Although the innkeeper was friendly enough, and no one had dared mention "templars" in her presence, it was unnerving to spend so much time in the shadow of the Circle Tower. In addition, there was little in the way of entertainment here. Other than her companions and the innkeeper, there were few other patrons. From time to time, a couple of men from the town nearby came to drink and discuss philosophy, most recently whether or not we are all just the dream of some being of "great cosmic power." There was also the man who had once been responsible for ferrying people across the lake before his boat had been commandeered by the templars. He spent a few hours each day complaining loudly to anyone who would listen, "They took away my Lissie! Named for my grand-mum, she was!"

Now, however, even the boatsman was absent. No entertainment to be had here today, at all.

With any luck, Rhianna would arrive soon and they could handle whatever business they had at the tower, and be on their way again to somewhere else. Somewhere more . . . interesting.

When she left her mother's home, Morrigan had been somewhat awed by the thought of being in a city, but had found it difficult at first, when confronted by the reality of being surrounded by so many people. Lothering had been terrifying and overwhelming, after a life spent almost entirely in the Wilds. But Oswin had been less chaotic, and Rainesfere very charming, and now she craved the sort of atmosphere she'd experienced in those places. Hearing the cadences of different voices, watching people haggle loudly in the marketplaces. The noise and the bustle and the color and scents. It had stopped being frightening, and become endlessly fascinating. Perhaps she would tire of it eventually, and yearn to be back in the relative quiet of the Wilds, but for now, she wanted to soak up every detail. This sleepy inn, in the shadow of Kinloch Hold, offered no such pleasures.

Ah well. They shouldn't be obliged to remain here long now. Rhianna's hawk, Gwyn, had caught up with them the day after they parted ways at Gherlen's Pass, carrying a note: Rhianna had escaped from the fort, and would meet them at the inn as agreed upon.

Alistair had grabbed the slip of parchment from Morrigan's grasp. "Is it my imagination, or do these look like blood stains? Shouldn't we go . . . look for her, or something?"

It was true that there were a couple of dark smudges that looked like something other than ink, and the handwriting was much sloppier than Morrigan would have expected from the daughter of a nobleman. Those things were hardly troubling, though.

"I do not see how it matters," Morrigan had said calmly. "This note clearly came from Rhianna, and you know as well as I do she is capable of taking care of herself. In all likelihood the blood belongs to someone else. If she were wounded and needed help, she would have asked. Which she did not. So the obvious course of action is to wait here, as she has requested. Especially since we would have no idea where to start looking, even were it necessary."

Alistair hadn't seemed satisfied by this logic; the man really did lack all imagination and sense. Instead of being comforted by the knowledge that Rhianna was alive, and well enough to send a note, he'd seemed vaguely panicked, which seemed the opposite response one would expect. Of course, he had behaved strangely ever since they split up. When Leliana and Sten had returned alone, Morrigan had expected Alistair to rant and rail about Rhianna's foolhardy behavior, but instead, he'd just gone pale and stuttered some prayers to the Maker for Rhianna to return to them unharmed. It was almost as though he cared, which came as something of a surprise, considering how much the two of them fought.

At any rate, everyone other than Alistair had seemed relieved by the arrival of the note, and they'd all continued around Lake Calenhad to the inn.

Where they now sat. Waiting.

Dane whined softly, and Morrigan reached down to scratch behind his ears.

"So let me get this straight." Alistair's voice echoed through the common room. "You were a cloistered sister?"

"Yes," Leliana replied. "Does this surprise you? You must have been a brother before you became a templar?"

"Well, no, as a matter of fact. I never actually became a templar. I was recruited into the Grey Wardens before I took my final vows."

He never took his vows? That came as a surprise. He certainly was pious and obnoxious enough to have been fully indoctrinated into that Chantry nonsense.

"Oh. I didn't realize." Leliana paused. "Do you ever regret leaving the Chantry?"

"No, never. You don't regret leaving, do you?"

"Yes, sometimes. You may find it hard to believe, but I found peace there. A kind of peace I'd never known before."

"Really?" Alistair shrugged. "Yeah, I can see that, I guess. I mean, it was quiet most of the time, anyway. Too quiet, if you ask me." A grin split his face. "It used to get so quiet at the monastery that I would start screaming at the top of my lungs until one of the brothers came running."

"You did . . . what?" Leliana sounded vaguely disturbed, and no wonder. Clearly, something was not right in Alistair's head.

"I would scream. As loudly as possible. And when they asked me what was wrong, I told them I was just checking."

"Checking what?" Daveth asked.

"Um . . . I'm not really sure? Checking to make sure someone was paying attention, I guess? Or that they weren't all just dead, and that's why it was so quiet. I mean, you never know, right?"

"I . . . no." Leliana shook her head. "I never did anything like that. I enjoyed the quiet."

"Suit yourself." Alistair chuckled softly. "The look on their faces was always priceless, though."

Yes. There was definitely something wrong in that man's head.

Before Leliana could respond - although, really, what was there to say? - Dane leapt to his feet. He huffed once, and then again, and then he barked twice. He didn't seem unhappy, though. Quite the opposite . . .

The door to the inn swung open, and in walked Rhianna. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt, her hands were bandaged, and she seemed to favor one leg. But when Dane bounded across the common room, she dropped to her knees and a wide, happy smile burst across her face as she threw her arms around the hound's neck.

"Rhianna!" Alistair leapt from his chair, and rushed across the room in Dane's wake. When Rhianna let loose her hold of the dog, Alistair practically dragged her back up to her feet, and threw his arms around her. After a moment of hesitation, Rhianna returned the embrace.

When they pulled apart, Alistair's arms fell to his sides, and his cheeks were stained red. "I . . . um . . . I'm sorry about that. It's just . . . I was so worried about you! When I found out you'd been captured . . . we were all so worried!"

"Hello, Alistair." Rhianna blinked rapidly, as though surprised or confused. "Didn't you get my note?"

By now, Daveth and Leliana had crossed the room to Rhianna's side.

"Yes, we got the note," Alistair replied. "But it was all . . . bloody. And, w-well . . ." The man was stuttering now? He really seemed flustered. What was that all about? "It's just, when Leliana and Sten told us what had happened - that you'd been captured - that sounded awful, and to think that you were being locked up, and taken to Loghain . . . I'm just . . . well, I'm grateful you're all right. I . . . um . . . yeah."

"It's all right," Rhianna chuckled tiredly. "I really am fine. I hurt my hands a bit while escaping, but other than that, I'm fine." She turned to the others. "Hello, Daveth." The rogue stepped close and pulled her into a hug. This time, Rhianna returned the embrace with no hesitation.

"Good to see you, Boss," he said when he pulled away.

"Yes." Leliana hugged Rhianna, as well. "It is so good to see you. Watching you walk away with that guard was awful."

"I'll admit, it's good to be here." Rhianna smiled, a wide, genuine smile. The sort of smile Morrigan had only rarely seen on the woman's face before, except when interacting with her hound.

"I wouldn't mind something to drink," Rhianna continued, "and a hot meal."

"You've got it!" Daveth hurried over to the innkeep, while the others ushered Rhianna to the table. Sten nodded a greeting as Rhianna took a seat. Finally, Morrigan stood, and brought her pack with her.

"Welcome back. Would you like me to take a look at your hands?"

"Yes, please. I managed to give myself some rope burns." Rhianna held up her left hand so Morrigan could unwrap the bandage. "I didn't have a poultice with me," Rhianna continued, "but I was able to find elfroot and pack the wounds with that. It helped ease the pain, if nothing else."

Morrigan bit back a gasp when she saw the wound on Rhianna's left palm. It was by far the worst such injury she'd ever seen. The skin had been torn through nearly to the bones. The elfroot had done a bit to soothe the worst of the rawness, but Rhianna's palm was still basically one large open sore. Fortunately, it appeared not to have become infected. Morrigan retrieved a pot of salve from her pack, and dabbed it on the wound as gently as possible. Rhianna didn't even flinch.

"The elfroot was a good idea," Morrigan agreed. "But a poultice will be better. Just how far did you slide down that rope?" she murmured, not keen for the others to hear, or to see just how badly Rhianna's hands were torn.

"I'm not sure. I fell for several seconds. Guards had grabbed the rope from above and were trying to haul me up, so I did the first thing that came to mind."

"Well, it's nothing that won't heal." She'd have scars, no doubt, but not in a place where they'd often be noticed.

Morrigan finished rebandaging Rhianna's left hand, and began to work on her right, as the others all settled around the table, and Daveth pushed a glass of port in front of Rhianna.

"So, tell us what happened." Alistair said. "Were they awful to you? Did they put you in chains down in the dungeon?"

"No," Rhianna chuckled. "Nothing that like. They put me in a rather charming little room near the top of the tower, and gave me food, and everyone was quite pleasant. Even so, I decided I would rather not go to Denerim as someone's prisoner, so I climbed over the wall to escape."

"You went over the wall?" Leliana's eyes were wide. "I saw the fort. It was a very long way down to the bottom of that gorge."

"Yes." Rhianna paused. "It was a long way down, and I had to slide part of the way. But, fortunately, I only ran out of rope about ten feet from the bottom, so I didn't fall very far at all." Her voice was cheerful, and her smile bright, but her jaw was tense, and the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Rhianna's escape had clearly not been as facile as she made it sound. Judging by her wounds, she had slid rather a long way down that rope, and even a fall of ten feet could have been deadly if she'd landed badly.

Morrigan did not make any comment to that effect, though.

"After I made it to the bottom," Rhianna continued, "it was easy enough to get away. I had enough of a head start to outrun the soldiers. The hounds did catch up to me, but their silence was easily bought with some bits of cheese I'd tucked away in my pocket for that very purpose. From there, I just followed a dry riverbed south through the mountains to Sulcher's Pass. No horse could travel through that terrain, so there was no way for them to follow me. And from Sulcher's Pass, I made my way to Rainesfere, where Teagan's seneschal was gracious enough to help me hire a boat to bring me here. So." She paused. "What have you been able to learn about the troubles at the Circle?"

"Nothing really," Alistair said. "No one here knows much of anything at all. Just that things are out of control, but no one seems to know any details, or what got them that way in the first place. People don't like to stick their noses in where mages are concerned. Which isn't bad logic, really." He shrugged. "So, all we know is that something's going on. And occasionally there's a loud explosion . . ." His voice trailed off.

"You never tried to go across to the tower?"

"No," he admitted. "We thought we'd wait for you."

"All right." A slight crease formed across her brow, but she gave a half smile. "Let me just have something to eat, and we can see about getting the boatsman to ferry us across."

"That might be easier said than done," Morrigan mused. "I think the fellow who usually takes people across the lake has been replaced by a templar who is under strict instructions not to let anyone across."

"Oh." Rhianna's half smile faltered. "Well, we'll just have to be persuasive, won't we?"

"Indeed," Morrigan agreed.

Fortunately, Rhianna was a persuasive young woman. She seemed to have a knack for sweet-talking people into doing as she wanted. Convincing this templar would not be the first time that skill would come in handy. Nor would it be the last.

Morrigan glanced at Alistair, and Daveth, and something tightened uncomfortably in her chest.

She looked away again.

What would happen if she confided in Rhianna? Told her the truth about what lie ahead? Would she take the news with grace and calm, or would she rebel? Would she feel betrayed? Perhaps even banish Morrigan from her side?

Of course, these questions were moot. Morrigan would not breathe a word about any of it. Not yet. No, not out of respect for her mother's wishes - or fear of her mother's threats - but for Rhianna's sake.

There was no way to escape the future, but perhaps knowing as little as possible about it would be a comfort. Much better for Rhianna to remain in blissful ignorance for at least a while longer.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Rhianna was sorely tempted to put off going to the tower until the morrow. The thought of sleeping in a bed, of being able to rest with her feet up beside a fire with Dane's head in her lap, sounded utterly delightful. But the little detour she'd made had cost enough time already, and since the others hadn't managed to investigate the troubles at the tower, it seemed prudent they do so as quickly as possible. The longer they waited to see what was happening at Kinloch Hold, the slimmer the chance there would be anything left to investigate, assuming Alistair's comment about "explosions" had not been in jest.

Besides, she didn't feel physically exhausted. Her hands hurt, yes, and she had twisted one of her ankles dropping to the ground. Her stomach stomach still churned at the memory of the pain - and the sight of her bleeding hands - once she had stopped running long enough to assess the damage. Even so, she didn't hurt enough to warrant an entire day of rest.

So, once she'd finished her meal and the pleasantly robust wine Daveth had brought her, she gathered everyone together, and they made their way to the small boat dock.

As expected, the ferryman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a man in templar armor stood at the dock.

"You!" The man stood straighter at their approach. "You're not looking to get across to the tower, are you? Because I have strict orders not to let anyone pass!" He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I am the person appointed to stop all unauthorized access to the Circle Tower. Meaning you," he pointed at Rhianna, and then swept his finger to take in the rest of the companions as well. "Because you're unauthorized."

That was quite an . . . unusual speech.

"Except that I do need to get across," Rhianna replied. "I'm a Grey Warden, and I seek the assistance of the mages."

"Oh, right." He put a hand on his hip. "You're a Grey Warden are you? Prove it. Kill some darkspawn. Isn't that what you do? Come on." He made a sweeping gesture with his other arm. "Let's see some righteous Grey Wardening!"

What a strange, strange man. "There . . . aren't any darkspawn here for me to kill," she said slowly.

"Huh." He looked around, as though surprised by this revelation. "You're right. That's good, I suppose. Wouldn't want darkspawn smeared across the landscape. I hear their blood is black. Is that true? You'd know if you were a Grey Warden."

"No, it's red like any other blood."

"Well, that's a disappointment. Darkspawn. People are talking about them all the time. You'd think they'd have . . . weird blood. Or something." He shrugged. "Either way, that's hardly proof you are who you say you are."

"Here. Take a look at this." She pulled the treaty from her pocket. "I have a document that compels the Circle to help the Grey Wardens."

"Ooh! Look!" He glanced at the scroll. "Is that the Grey Warden seal? It's very pretty." He shrugged. "But you can't expect me to accept this, can you? You might have picked it up anywhere. And if you can't prove you're who you say you are, I'm not letting you across. Anyway, it was nice chatting with you. Now on your way." He waved his hand, as if shooing them away. "Right now. Go." Before Rhianna could even respond, he'd turned and began to walk toward the far end of the dock.

Rhianna glanced back at her companions. "Is it my imagination, or is there something off about him?"

"Might be lyrium poisoning," Alistair said.

"What?" Daveth sounded as surprised as Rhianna was at the suggestion.

"Lyrium poisoning. It happens eventually to all templars, although that fellow looks a bit young for it to have set in yet." Alistair must have noticed the confusion in the faces of those listening, because he continued, "The Chantry keeps a close reign on its templars. We're given lyrium regularly, you see, to help develop our magical talents. Or so they say. And, well, that means we become addicted."

"Really?" Rhianna's brow creased. "You were addicted to lyrium?"

"Me? No. Thankfully, no." He wrinkled his nose. "You . . . well, you only start receiving lyrium once you've taken your vows." He paused. "Lyrium isn't required in order to learn the templar talents. It just makes them more effective. Or so I was told. Maybe it doesn't even do that." He shrugged. "Anyway, after you take it long enough, it . . . it sort of addles the brain. Like I said, it usually only happens to templars who have been taking it for years. So maybe he's just kind of . . . odd, all on his own?"

This business with lyrium was interesting, but Rhianna didn't have the luxury of asking more questions right now. Her main concern was getting across the lake to the tower, so she followed the templar down the dock, with her companions right behind.

When the templar noticed, he turned. "Oh, hello. It's you again. Come to have a little chat, have you? Because I already told you, no one gets to the tower. No one! The tower is off-limits to all!"

"Yes, you said that already. I just wanted to find out your name."

"My name? I'm Carroll, but I can't see why you'd need to know that."

"Of course I'll need to know your name, so when I speak with the knight-commander, I can tell him what an excellent job you've been doing."

"Oh!" A wide smile crossed his face. "Yes. That would be wonderful. Except how are you going to speak to the knight-commander, since he's at the tower, and you're not?"

"Well, that's where you come in. I need you to take us across. I must speak with the knight-commander and the first enchanter. I know you were told not to bring anyone across, but this is Grey Warden business, and it's very important for us to have the support of the people at the Circle if we're to fight the darkspawn properly. If you'll please just take us there now-"

"No! I've one job and one job only, and by the Maker's shiny gold cutlery, I will do it!"

"I doubt the Maker's cutlery is made of gold," Alistair quipped. "Chances are, He doesn't have cutlery at all."

"Oh, and He's told you that, has He? Well, you're still not getting across."

"Surely," Rhianna said, "there's some way we can work this out. Is there anything you need? Coin for buying yourself a treat at the pub?"

"What good will coin do me? I'm on duty here, if you hadn't noticed. I can't just go swanning off to the pub." His shoulders sagged. "Pity, though. I am feeling a bit peckish, come to think of it. Too bad I can't go over and have a snack."

"Well," Leliana said, "I'm sure they have all sorts of food at the tower. We can go together, and make sure you have something nice to eat."

"Parshaara!" Sten stepped forward, and handed the man a small package wrapped in cloth. "Munch on these if you like! I am content to part with them if it saves us from another minute of talking to this fool."

Carroll's eyes lit up as he unwrapped the package. "Ooh! Cookies!"

"Cookies?" Daveth turned to Sten. "Where did you get cookies?"

He arched a brow. "There was a child. A fat, slovenly thing, in the last village we passed. I relieved him of these confections. He didn't need more."

"You stole cookies?" Alistair's voice was incredulous. "From a child?"

"For his own good." Sten's expression was the same stoic mask he always seemed to wear.

"You stole cookies," Alistair repeated. "From a child."

"Mmm, yummy!" Carroll took another bite, and crumbs fell past his chin. "This is hitting the spot!" He popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth, and then tucked the remainder carefully into a pocket. "All right, you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, yes? We can go across now, if you want."

Rhainna blinked at how quickly the man had changed his tune. Cookies. Stolen or not, the cookies has done the trick. Well, Rhianna certainly wasn't going to complain about that. Carroll helped them into the boat, and soon he had rowed them across the lake, and into the underground cavern.

Unlike Rhianna's first visit here, no one waited to announce their arrival or escort them upstairs, so Rhianna led the way up the steps into the main entry hall.

The hall was dimly lit, and seemed darker than Rhianna remembered it – or perhaps that was just her imagination, brought on by the grim faces of those few people in the hall. All of them were templars, and Knight-Commander Greagoir was among them.

He gestured with his hands as he spoke to one of the other templars. ". . . and I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times. Do not open the doors without my express consent. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ser." The man bowed, and hurried toward the doors that led into the tower.

"Now we wait, and pray," Greagoir said, seemingly to himself.

"The doors are barred," Alistair murmured. "Are they keeping people out, I wonder? Or in?"

When Greagoir turned at Rhianna's approached, the frown deepened upon his face. "How in the world did you get here? I told Carroll not to bring anyone across the lake." He put up his hands, as if signaling Rhianna to stop coming toward him. "I'm sorry, but the tower is closed. We are dealing with a very delicate situation, and I must ask you to leave now, for your own safety." He looked exhausted and haggard; the skin of his face seemed to sag, and dark smudges lurked beneath his eyes.

"I understand there's a problem here in the Circle," Rhianna replied, "and Carroll did make it clear that he had instructions not to bring anyone over, but I'm afraid my business can't wait." She steeled herself for his reaction; he was sure to be even less happy about this request now than he had been when Duncan had made it. "I need to speak with the First Enchanter about giving further aid to the Grey Wardens."

"You." His eyes widened slightly at her approach. "I remember you. You're the recruit who was here with Duncan. A proper Grey Warden now, are you?"

"I am."

"I thought all of you were killed at Ostagar." He shrugged. "Nice to see you're not dead."

Rhianna arched a brow. "I remember you were averse to the idea of sending additional assistance against the Blight, but I'm afraid it's going to be necessary, if we hope to save Ferelden from the darkspawn. As you pointed out, a great many lives were lost at Ostagar."

"I am weary of the Grey Wardens' ceaseless requests," he growled, but then he held up a hand, almost as in surrender. "But it is your right, I know that much." He sounded almost defeated. "Be that as it may, I'm afraid you'll find no assistance here. I can spare none of my templars, and the mages are . . . indisposed."

"Indisposed?" Alistair asked. "What does that mean?"

Greagoir shrugged. "I shall speak plainly. The tower is no longer under our control. We were too complacent, and abominations and demons stalk the tower's halls."

"Abominations? And demons?" Rhianna couldn't keep the surprise from her tone. "How is that possible?"

"How it is possible? That question can only stem from a lack of experience with those cursed with magic. Creatures of the Fade can use mages to enter our world, so demons are drawn to magic users like moths to a flame. A mage in such a spirit's clutches is changed, his flesh twisted, his mind shattered. It is only by willpower and sheer luck that more of them do not succumb." He paused. "And now, so many have turned that we had no choice but to bar the doors."

"It sounds to me," Alistair said, "as though your templars haven't been doing their jobs."

Greagoir's frown deepened. "My men did what they could, but it wasn't enough. We were prepared for one or two abominations . . . not the horde that fell upon us."

"What do you intend to do now?" Rhianna asked.

"The only thing I can do. The grand cleric has granted the Right of Annulment, but we must wait to attack the tower until reinforcements arrive from Denerim. If we enter the tower now, we will be massacred. I cannot order my men to their deaths. While the door holds, we wait."

Maker. So what Ser Bryant had told them in Lothering was true.

"You cannot really intend to annul the Circle." Leliana's voice was strained. "Are there not still innocent mages locked away in the tower? You cannot kill all of them."

"It's probably already too late for the mages," Alistair said. "No doubt, they're already dead. And any abominations remaining inside must be dealt with no matter what."

"Exactly right," Greagoir agreed. "When last we entered the tower, we saw only demons. I realized we could not defeat them, so I told my men to flee." He turned to Leliana. "I locked away not just mages, but my templars as well. I have to assume they are already dead. All of them. No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. As your companion said, any abominations must be dealt with. Everything in the tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again."

"But mages are not defenseless," Rhianna insisted. "Surely, some of them could still be alive."

"You did not see the chaos, the destruction, the pure evil that has taken hold of the tower. The mages are lost. It is something we must accept." Greagoir turned away, and ran a hand through his hair. "Even if some of them yet live, we have no way of knowing whether or not a demon has already possessed them, and lurks patiently inside. If these abominations are allowed to escape the tower, an unprepared village or town would be devastated should even one such creature chance upon it. We cannot allow that to happen, so they must all be killed." He turned back to Rhianna, his voice slightly louder than before, as though trying to convince himself this was the right thing to do. "It is the innocent folk of Ferelden who matter. I would lay down my life, and the life of any mage, to protect them. No abomination must cross this threshold."

_They must all be killed_.

Solona's face flashed in Rhianna's memory. The young mage had hated living here, and perhaps this is why. Greagoir spoke of the mages almost as though they weren't people, but merely monsters in disguise.

"Let me go in." Rhianna blinked with surprise as soon as she'd said it; entering a tower full of demons could only be a bad idea. But something inside of her had snapped at the thought of so many innocent people locked away and abandoned to die. Mages being picked off, one by one by demons, and then, those who did manage to survive being murdered by templars when the Right of Annulment arrived. "I'll deal with the abominations, and bring back any survivors."

"You'll deal with the abominations?" He held her gaze. "Do you know what they are? They are madness and cruelty made flesh. A single abomination is a force to be reckoned with, and you will face more than one. Are you certain you will be strong enough to deal with them, when even templars are loathe to enter the tower?"

Of course she wasn't certain. She'd never even seen an abomination, let alone killed one.

"Don't worry about us," she replied. "We'll kill anything that needs to be killed inside of that tower."

Greagoir studied her through narrowed eyes. "I should wait. Wait for the templars from Denerim. But . . . these abominations must be contained at all costs, and I do not have the luxury of refusing help when it is offered." The lines of his face softened. "If you are able to slaughter the abominations and end this, I would owe you much. Enough that I would pledge my templars to your cause." He paused. "Anything to end the horror that has taken over the Ferelden Circle."

Rhianna glanced back at her companions. The humans all had varying levels of disbelief etched into their features, except Morrigan, who looked almost angry. Sten, too, did not seem surprised. He stood tall, his well-muscled arms crossed in front of him, and he nodded to Rhianna, just once.

She turned back to Greagoir. "All right. I am willing to do this, along with those among my companions who agree to come with me." She wasn't going to force anyone to join her in what sounded likely to be a death trap.

"Very well." Greagoir tilted his head to one side. "A word of caution: once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred until I have proof that it is safe. I will only believe it is over if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen . . . then the Circle is lost, and must be destroyed."

Rhianna let out a slow breath. "I understand."

"Then may Andraste lend you her courage." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, and bowed to her. She returned the salute.

She turned to the others. "Look, I honestly have no idea what we might find inside," she said quietly, "and I'm not going to ask any of you to come with me unless you are willing. It sounds as though there's a reasonably good chance that whoever goes inside might not make it back out again." She shrugged. "So . . ."

"I'm with you," Daveth said, standing a bit straighter. "Always."

"Me, too," Alistair added. Leliana and Sten both nodded in agreement.

Rhianna turned her gaze on Morrigan. The witch stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest, her weight on one leg, and a deep scowl upon her face. She inhaled, and let the breath out again through her mouth. Rhianna merely waited to see what Morrigan would say.

"I wonder why we are even making the effort." Morrigan's tone was sharp. "Why bother to rescue these pathetic creatures who allow themselves to be corralled like cattle? Look at how they live: servants of the Chantry. Now their masters have chosen death for them. I say let them have it."

"Morrigan?" Leliana sounded shocked. "Why do you treat the Circle with such contempt? You could have been one of them, if things were different. If you had been found by the templars."

"If that were so, I would have flung myself from the top of this tower years ago. I will allow neither mind nor body to be subjugated in such a dehumanizing fashion. Besides," she scoffed, "There was never any danger of that happening. My mother taught me from a very young age that my magic would keep me safe, and she made certain I knew how to protect myself. I was not raised to fear the templars; my mother made it clear that they should fear me. Not so the pathetic fools who live here. They lack respect for themselves and their own power. Why should I respect them?"

"Not everyone has your instinct for survival," Rhianna said gently. "And not everyone was raised by a mother such as your own. Perhaps it is not your respect they deserve, but your compassion?"

"Compassion?" Morrigan leveled her amber eyes at Rhianna in an unhappy stare, but then she sighed. "Oh, all right. Have it your way. If you are determined we should help these weak creatures, I will not stand in the way." She rolled her eyes. "I'm certainly not going to wait out here with these cowardly templars."

"Thank you," Rhianna replied. She met each of her companions' gazes in turn. "Let's go see what awaits us inside."

A templar stood in front of the huge double doors that led into the tower. His helmet shielded his face, so it was impossible to tell how he felt about letting these newcomers pass.

This was probably a very bad idea. Then again, dressing up like a Chantry sister and walking into a camp of Gwaren Regulars had hardly been a good one, and she'd managed to survive that.

Rhianna nodded at the templar, and he pulled open the doors. The hinges protested with a thin, high-pitched creak as the door swung open. With one final glance back at the knight-commander, Rhianna led the way into the tower, her companions close at her heel.

When they had all passed through, the templar pushed the doors shut again. They closed with a disheartening thud, and the scrape of metal against metal as the key turned in the lock.

For good or ill, it was done.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta readers, Sehnsuchttraum, Psyche Sinclair, and Amanda Kitswell, and also to my wonderful reviewers: Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, Vicky79, and Nymra.


	27. Freedom cannot be given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions investigate the troubles in the Circle of Magi.

_**27 August, 9:30 Dragon  
Kinloch Hold** _

‹›‹O›‹›

Something was dreadfully wrong here.

Before Rhianna had taken more than a few steps into the tower, that much was obvious. It was not merely quiet; a profound silence lay over everything like a shroud. There were no hushed voices, no sounds of activity. Even their own footsteps seemed muffled as they moved through the hallway. It was colder than she remembered, as well, and an unwholesome odor hung in the air. It stung her nostrils, and she couldn't bring herself to draw in a deep breath.

She'd been uncomfortable on her first visit here - unimpressed by the dimly lit hallways, and the way the templars' eyes followed her everywhere she went. But now? Everything felt wrong.

A heavy weight settled in her stomach. Agreeing to enter this tower had been a horribly bad idea.

"Does anyone else think that maybe this wasn't the best idea?" Daveth echoed her thoughts. "You know what they say about letting sleeping abominations lie, right?" His tone was light, but the tremble in his voice belied his anxiety.

When they reached the apprentice quarters, they found the first bodies. Mages and templars both, scattered on the floor. Some had been mangled almost beyond recognition, while others looked completely uninjured, except for the skew of their limbs, and their blank, lifeless stares. Blood smeared the walls and floors, and a foul metallic odor hung in the air - like blood, and rot, and something else, something warm and earthy. Rhianna's stomach churned.

"Blessed Andraste." Leliana's voice was thin and breathless. "This is too cruel. No one deserves such a fate."

"This," Sten said, "is why we cut the tongues from mages in Par Vollen."

Oh, Maker, not that again. Not now. Especially since Greagoir had made it clear there was no going back.

"As I recall from my time as a templar," Alistair began, "locking the door and throwing away the key was 'Plan B'. You know, the last resort. Maybe the knight-commander is right, and it's already too late. Maybe everyone in the tower is already dead."

"It's going to be fine." Rhianna spoke with a confidence she didn't feel. Even if Alistair was right, the last thing any of them needed was to get discouraged. Especially if Alistair was right. Whether or not there were any survivors, there were still demons to be killed if there was to be any chance of them getting out of this place alive. "We'll just go slowly, and take things as they come."

Fortunately, they soon discovered that Alistair's pessimism hadn't been completely warranted. In the large hallway where Duncan had recruited Solona after that incident with the blood mage, they found some survivors: four mages and a handful of children. Just beyond them, a bluish-white glow surrounded the doorway that led deeper into the tower.

"Come no further!" A woman raised her staff as if preparing to cast a spell at them. She wore the red robes that marked her as a senior enchanter, and her white hair was pulled back in a short queue.

Rhianna had seen this woman before.

"It's all right!" Rhianna took a step closer, and put her hand up in a gesture of surrender. "We're here to help."

"Stay where you are!" She raised the staff a bit higher. "I will strike you down where you stand unless you give me reason not to." Her brow creased. "Wait," the woman amended. "I've seen you before. You were with Solona at Ostagar." Ah, yes. That's why she looked familiar. Wynne? Was that her name?

"That's right. My name is Rhianna, and I'm a Grey Warden."

"Why are you here? Grey Warden or no, the templars would not let just anyone by. Do they plan to attack the tower now?"

"Not yet. The knight-commander has been given permission for the Right of Annulment, but doesn't have the manpower to enter the tower until reinforcements arrive from Denerim. So my friends and I agreed to enter the tower and see if there was anything we could do to save the Circle before it's too late."

"So Greagoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope. He probably assumes we are all dead."

"Yes, he said he doubted anyone could have survived the abominations, but when I offered to see if there was some way we could help, he let us come in and try."

"They abandoned us to our fate," she said bitterly, "but even trapped as we are, we have survived." She glanced over her shoulder. "I erected a barrier over the door that leads to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children." A furrow formed across her brow. "If the templars invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them."

"What happened here, anyway?" Daveth asked. "Do you know what . . . well, what started all the trouble?"

"It's . . . a long story. It began as a revolt, led by a mage named Uldred. After he returned from Ostagar, he tried to take over the Circle. He had a persuasive argument, and many of the younger enchanters believed his lies. But his greed left him open to corruption by demons; he must have turned to blood magic. It didn't take long for the entire Circle to be overrun by abominations. I tried to help the children get out, but the doors to the outside were locked and no one responded when I called for help."

"Do you know what happened to the first enchanter? When did you last see him?" Rhianna asked.

"Irving was upstairs," Wynne replied. "Fighting an abomination."

"Then he might be dead?" Alistair wrinkled his noise in dismay. "The knight-commander told us he will only believe the Circle is back under control if he hears it directly from First Enchanter Irving."

"No," she said firmly. "I refuse to believe he's dead. If anyone could survive this, it's Irving."

"All right. If the first enchanter is in there, we'll find him." Rhianna ran a hand across her hair, and fought back a wave of exhaustion. Perhaps she should have allowed herself a night of proper rest. Of course, if they'd come tomorrow, it might well have been too late to save anyone. "Do you think the Circle can be saved?"

"Yes," Wynne said firmly. "Abominations can be defeated and killed, and while even a single mage still lives, the Circle is not lost. Not yet. Once Greagoir sees that we have made the tower safe, I trust he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable."

We?

"You wish to come with us?" Rhianna asked. No doubt Wynne was formidable - she had managed to survive Ostagar, after all - but she looked exhausted. Her skin was pasty, and there were dark circles under her eyes, as thought she hadn't slept properly in days. Which, in all likelihood, she hadn't.

"Of course I am coming with you. I have more experience fighting abominations than you do. I know the tower, and I know what waits inside. Besides . . . if the Circle is indeed lost, and all the mages dead," she closed her eyes, briefly, "I would see this for myself."

"No, Wynne." One of the other mages stepped forward, a young woman with red hair. "I'll go with them. You were so badly hurt earlier, you should stay here and rest."

"I have no need of rest, Petra," Wynne replied. "You stay here and make sure the children remain safe and calm. I'll be . . . fine."

Morrigan stepped close, and spoke softly to Rhianna. "You really intend for us to assist this preachy schoolmistress?"

"Yes." She held Morrigan's gaze. "I do. She knows better we do what to expect."

Morrigan sighed, but made no further comment.

"Besides, you have no choice but to bring me with you," Wynne added. "You will not be able to enter the tower as long as the barrier holds. I will only dispel it if you join with me to save this Circle."

"Fair enough," Rhianna agreed.

"Before we go, would you like me to heal your hands?" Wynne glanced at Rhianna's bandages. "And, if I'm not mistaken, your ankle is injured, as well?"

Rhianna's eyes widened, but she wasted no time in replying. "Any healing you can provide will be most welcome."

"Of course."

A few murmured words, and the sting of the rope burns, and the ache in her ankle – pains she'd lived with for nearly a week - were completely gone. Rhianna unwound the bandage from one of her hands; the wound was completely healed, leaving nothing but a swath of slightly darker scar tissue where the skin had been torn away.

"Thank you," Rhianna said gratefully. "Thank you so much. That is a relief."

"Of course." Then, with a grim nod, Wynne turned to face the glowing barrier that blocked the doorway. She let out an audible sigh. "To be honest, I'm somewhat amazed at myself for having kept the barrier in place this long. It made me weary at times, but I had to stay strong, to keep us safe. Be prepared for anything. I do not know what manner of creatures lurk beyond this barrier. Are you ready?"

Rhianna glanced back and caught Daveth's eye. He gave her an encouraging, crooked grin, and a slight shrug of his shoulders. "No time like the present."

"Yes," Rhianna agreed. "We're ready."

"All right. Be on your guard." Wynne held up her arm, palm facing forward, and with a few softly muttered words, a cloud of bluish light left her hand and streamed toward the barrier. The two glowing clouds seemed to reach out for one another, and met with a burst of light. A whisper filled the air as the shimmering glow of the barrier dissipated.

Rhianna led the way through the doorway.

‹›‹O›‹›

The destruction in the library was worse than anything Rhianna could have imagined. Most of the torches had been extinguished, casting the room into darkness and shadow, and corpses littered the floor. Again, many of the bodies appeared barely injured, while others had been mauled and mangled. A few had been so badly burnt they were almost unrecognizable as human. Books had been knocked off shelves; tables were upended and furniture destroyed. Tendrils of smoke drifted upward where piles of debris had been lit ablaze.

Why would anyone knowingly unleash this sort of destruction?

In the central hall of what had once been a place of scholarship and learning, they encountered the first demons.

Half a dozen of the creatures swarmed the companions, monstrous things taller even than Sten. Some of them appeared to be made of writhing flames, while others looked more human, except their faces and bodies were twisted and deformed. Both types fell under her sword, though, just as easily as the darkspawn did, although some of them had the nasty habit of exploding after falling to the ground.

"What are those things?" Daveth asked, when they had a momentary respite from fighting. "Are they demons? Or abominations? How do we tell the difference?"

"Most of these are just demons," Wynne replied. "Which is unusual. Usually, demons cannot exist outside of the Fade unless they have possessed a person - living or dead - and become a true abomination. The presence of so many demons here indicates a tear in the veil. Caused by Uldred's blood magic, no doubt. I suppose we should be grateful; demons are easier to kill than abominations, as they have only their own strength at their disposal. Abominations can tap into the magic of the mage they possess, giving them additional powers."

On the next floor up, voices - human voices - drifted into the hallway from an enchanter's room, and Rhianna crept close to listen.

"What are we doing here?" a woman replied. "Have you thought about it? Really thought about it?"

"We're making sure no one disrupts Uldred's plan," a man replied. "I thought that was quite clear."

"I know that's how it started. But . . ." The woman hesitated. "He's not Uldred anymore. And all of this . . . this isn't what any of us wanted. All this death? We should never have allowed it to go this far."

"No, perhaps we shouldn't have," said a third voice. "But this is what we're faced with, and-"

"Quiet!" The first man spoke again. "Both of you. Someone's coming!"

A man in enchanter's robes emerged from behind a large bookshelf, followed by two others.

"We're under attack!" the man shouted, and pointed his staff at Sten.

Daveth and Leliana began to fire arrows from across the room, as Morrigan and Wynne each murmured the words of a spell. Alistair and Sten rushed forward, swords drawn, with Rhianna and Dane close behind.

Before either of the warriors had closed the distance, one of the mages sliced open the palm of his hand. He lifted his arm as though preparing to cast a spell, and the blood that poured from the wound did not run down the man's arm, but instead, individual droplets floated upward, and hovered in midair. With a sweep of his staff, a burst of light sent the blood exploding in a cloud of red mist. Rhianna leapt out of the way of the spell, but Alistair and Sten were both knocked backwards a step.

Sten twitched to a stop, as though he had been frozen in place, but Alistair continued forward again. Alistair gave a shout, and the mage fell to his knees. Both of his companions were also knocked off balance, and Wynne stumbled awkwardly, as well. Only Morrigan, who was casting from against the far wall, seemed not to have been affected.

While Alistair put his sword through the man who had cut open his own hand, an arrow finished off the other male mage. The only mage left standing was the woman whose voice they had first heard. Rhianna rushed forward to take advantage of whatever weakness Alistair had inflicted upon the spell casters, and stabbed out with her dagger. The woman managed to dodge the blow, but in doing so, lost her balance, and fell backwards onto the floor. She cried out, and her voice echoed off of the chamber's stone walls.

"Please! Please don't kill me!" The woman pushed herself up onto one elbow and craned her neck to look up into Rhianna's face. "I know I have no right to ask for mercy," she panted, "but please. Please. I didn't mean for this death and destruction. None of us did. We were just trying to free ourselves."

"There is no excuse for what you have done here, Elspeth." Wynne's was harsh. "Turning to blood magic? That is never the answer."

"The magic was merely a means to an end," the prone woman insisted. "It gave us . . . it gave  _me_  the power to fight for what I believed. To fight for freedom. That's what Uldred promised." Her eyes narrowed. "You know what it's like living here, Wynne. You know as well as I do how awful it is to have the templars watching. Always watching. Except when they stop watching and strike out at us . . ." She shuddered, and bit back a sob. "Uldred told us that if the Circle agreed to support Loghain Mac Tir, the teyrn would help us be free of the Chantry."

"You had to know a claim like that wasn't true," Wynne said scornfully.

"What makes you say that?" Rhianna asked. Loghain knew the Circle wasn't a good place. Rhianna still remembered what he said to her, years ago, when she'd asked what he would have done if templars had taken her away. She also remembered the grim look in his eyes as he had said it.

_I spent more than a few nights lying awake wondering how I would steal you away from Kinloch Hold, if it came to that. And what to do with you afterward, to keep you safe._

So why wouldn't he make an agreement with this Uldred? It seemed a logical quid pro quo: Loghain acquired magical assistance against the darkspawn, and the mages got more autonomy in return.

"What makes me say what?" Wynne arched a brow. "That the claim wasn't true?" She scoffed. "Of course it wasn't true. Loghain murdered the king. That man's word means nothing."

Rhianna felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. Blessed Andraste, what in the world was wrong with everyone? Why were they all so certain Loghain wanted Cailan dead?

Before she could think of a reply, Elspeth argued back, "We did what we felt we had to do."

"You turned to forbidden magic! Nothing is worth what you have done to this place. Nothing. Fighting for what you believe is commendable, but the ends do not always justify the means."

"You don't really believe that, do you, Wynne?" Elspeth's voice was steady. "Change rarely comes peacefully. Andraste reshaped civilization, freed the slaves, and gave us the Chantry. But people died for it. She waged  _war_  on the Imperium. She didn't write them a strongly worded letter. Someone always has to take that first step. We thought to be the ones to do it. To force a change, no matter the cost."

"Look around at what you've done," Wynne demanded. "The cost is far too high."

"I see that now," Elspeth murmured. "But everything is clearer in hindsight, is it not?" She turned her gaze on Rhianna. "Please, I beg of you to show mercy."

"Ask the Maker for mercy when you see him." Alistair stepped forward, his sword raised. "You'll find none here."

"Alistair, no!" Rhianna put up her arm to stop him from moving any closer.

"What?" Alistair's brow furrowed, but before he could reply, Elspeth spoke again.

"Please ser." Her eyes once again sought Rhianna's. "Please. If you spare me, I will seek penance at the Chantry, I swear it."

"They'll never take you," Alistair snapped back. "They're very picky about who they let in. Harlots and murderers, yes." His lip curled. "Maleficarum? Oh, no."

"What are you talking about, Alistair?" Leliana crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Andraste's forgiveness is given to all who ask for it, and the Chantry accepts all people who seek shelter, regardless of what they've done." She paused. "I should know."

"Really?" he drawled. "Well, it seems you're familiar with a whole other Chantry then. Because the one  _I_  know wouldn't hesitate to shove a sword of mercy right through this woman's heart."

"Your comments betray a great deal of ignorance," Leliana insisted.

"Please," Elspeth said. "I . . . I just want my life. Please. A chance to atone for what I have done."

Alistair laughed. "As if we would allow-"

"We will spare your life," Rhianna told Elspeth. She glanced at Alistair. "Leliana is right. I was raised to believe that the Chantry would offer this woman mercy, and so will we."

Wynne gasped softly, and Alistair's face grew red, his brow knitted tightly as if in disbelief.

"Oh, thank you. Thank you!" Elspeth's voice trembled with relief.

"But," Rhianna continued, "I'm afraid there is nothing I can do to help you escape. You'll be on your own in getting out of the tower. We intend to cleanse this place of demons and abominations, after which Greagoir has promised to open the doors. But you'll be on your own once that happens. I doubt the templars will be as forgiving if they discover what you've done."

"I could ask nothing more from you than what you have already given. Thank you, ser. Thank you. Andraste will surely turn Her eyes on you for your mercy!"

Rhianna bent to offer the woman a hand in getting up, and Daveth quietly went about searching the bodies of the dead mages for any valuables they might have carried. No one else spoke to Elspeth, but Morrigan did come close and press a small vial into the woman's hand: a healing salve, by the look of things.

With a nod of thanks, Elspeth hurried in the direction of the staircase leading down.

"I'm not sure that was the best decision," Wynne muttered.

"That's putting it mildly." Alistair stepped up to Rhianna, hands on his hips. "So we're letting blood mages live, now?"

Rhianna straightened herself to her full height. "What we're doing is not murdering people who have surrendered. This is non-negotiable. I thought I made that clear back in Lothering."

Before he could respond, she turned to help Daveth search the bodies.

‹›‹O›‹›

As they made their way up the tower, it became noticeably colder, and there was a stench in the air of sulfur and decay. On the walls and floor, strange growths had formed, as if the stone itself had transformed into some sort of cancerous flesh, riddled with tendrils of black corruption.

Morrigan reached her hand up as though she meant to touch one of the growths, but stopped before her fingers brushed the surface. "'Tis most intriguing. Unless I am mistaken, this corruption is not unlike that left behind by the darkspawn. Perhaps there is some connection between the two?"

"According to the Chantry," Leliana replied, "when Tevinter magisters invaded the Golden City, they caused it to be blackened and corrupted. And those magisters became the first darkspawn. So, perhaps you are right."

"And," Wynne added, "the magisters were infamous for their use of blood magic."

"Whatever it is," Daveth murmured, "I don't like the look of it."

That was something with which everyone could agree.

As Rhianna moved through the hallway, something caught her attention: the body of a templar, prone on the floor. In life, he'd been about the same height and build as Alistair, and his armor was practically unscathed . . .

"Alistair," she called. "Come look at this." She unbuckled the cuirass and pulled it from the dead man. It really was excellent quality armor. She held it up for Alistair to see. "How does this compare to what you're wearing?"

"Are you joking? The order doesn't skimp on the equipment it gives its templars. That's much better than this splint mail."

"Try it on, then, and see how it fits."

"What? You want me to put on templar armor?" He shook his head. "I'm . . . well, I'm really not sure I should wear that."

"Why not?"

"I . . . I never took my vows."

"I don't think that matters. Did they never allow novices to wear the regalia?"

"Well. Sometimes. I wore it once, anyway. But still. I'm not even a novice anymore."

"Be that as it may, this is better quality than what you're wearing, which means it will keep you safer. I don't think the templars, or the Maker, or anyone else, is going to mind. Just put it on, all right?"

"When you put it that way . . ." His nose wrinkled, but he reached for the cuirass. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

In just a few minutes, he'd donned the whole set: heavy plate on his upper body, with Andraste's Sword of Mercy worked into the metal on the breast plate. Over the cuisses and greaves that protected his legs hung a skirt of purple cloth, with the Chantry's yellow sun symbol emblazoned upon it. It was somewhat disconcerting to see him wear armor she had begun to associate with violence and oppression. But it would give him better protection than what he had been wearing, and that was really all that mattered.

They continued through the tower's circular hallway, alert to any signs of demons. Once again, Rhianna heard voices coming from one of the bedrooms. This time, the voices were surprisingly calm and soothing. Happy, almost.

"It is time for supper, pet," a woman's voice crooned.

"Yes, my love," a man replied. "What are we having tonight?"

"Roast boar, your favorite. And candied yams. Can you smell the cinnamon? Doesn't the meal look sumptuous?"

"Yes, my love. The meal looks sumptuous."

Curious, Rhianna stepped through the doorway. Inside, a templar stood near the far wall, and in front of him was a woman . . . at least Rhianna thought it was a woman, although there was something strange about her. From behind, she appeared willowy and thin, and wore almost no clothes over skin that shimmered faintly purple.

The templar looked straight ahead as he spoke. "You spoil me, my sweet. How fare our children at their lessons?" His voice sounded . . . dazed, almost. As though he were in a trance, or talking in his sleep.

"They've both done such a good job. Maxwell worked on his penmanship, and Lissa is learning to play your favorite song on the harp. You should ask them to show you what they've learned in the morning."

"Oh, have they gone to bed?"

"Yes, my pet. The children have gone to bed. And here we are, warm and blissful and content."

"Perhaps," he replied, "it is time for us to retire as well, my love."

"Of course, my darling. I cannot wait for you to hold me in your arms."

"What in the Maker's name is going on here?" Wynne's voice echoed through the room.

The templar's wife turned, and Rhianna saw that she was not actually a woman, but something else entirely. Something with horns that sprouted from her temples and swept back along the sides of her head, and monstrous, long-toed feet with sharp claws. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed upon the intruders.

"That's a demon," Alistair murmured.

"Do you hear something, love?" The templar sounded confused and vaguely panicked, but apparently could not see Rhianna or her companions.

"It is nothing, my darling," the demon soothed. "Just someone at the door. Why don't you tell the children a bedtime story while I see who is here."

"Of course, my love. Don't be long," he said in a singsong voice. "The children will want to kiss you goodnight."

"I will be but a moment, my pet." The woman came toward them, her movements graceful and eerie, as though she glided above the ground rather than walking upon it. "You are intruding upon a loving, intimate moment," she said, "and I dislike disruptions. Please leave. All of you."

"Do you have that templar under some sort of a spell?" Rhianna asked. She couldn't decide if she was horrified, or fascinated.

"A spell?" She shrugged. "I have merely given him all the things he ever wanted. All the things his life here in the Circle denied him. I'll admit, there is a certain power in those things that bring mortals delight. Happiness is bewitching."

"But his happiness," Wynne said, "is an illusion. Nothing more than a cruel lie."

"Cruel?" The demon tilted her head to one side. She had gorgeous dark eyes. "There is nothing cruel about it. After all, is not  _all_ happiness mere illusion, all emotion intangible? We cannot see these things, or grasp them. They exist only in the mind and the heart, but you would not call them lies because of it."

"True happiness," Leliana interjected, "is caused by something real. Real events, real people. You have taken away his will, and feed off his innermost desires. It is unholy!"

"Is it?" The demon's voice was smooth, and unperturbed. "How is his happiness less real than anyone else's? I saw his loneliness and longing for a family that loved him. It is this I have given him: everything he ever wanted but was never allowed to have. You are the one who would deprive him of that." She smiled. "So which of us is the unholy one?"

"You know very well that his body will not last long in this stupor," Wynne insisted. "Does he know he has mere days before body fails and death claims him?"

"Perhaps for some people, a short, blissful existence is preferable to an interminable one of misery." She looked directly into Rhianna's eyes. "Would you not agree? What would you be willing to give to have more time with your beloved family?" She stepped close, and rested the tips of her fingers along the side of Rhianna's face. "What would you give to hear once against the soothing voice of your mother? Your father's laughter? The happy sounds of your nephew playing with your hound?" She paused, and pressed her palm against Rhianna's cheek. "Would you not do anything to spend even one more night in your lover's arms? To feel his breath warm your skin? The touch of his hands on your body?" Her voice deepened, and her features shifted, and Rhianna found herself looking into Loghain's eyes. "To know that I am not angry with you? That I could never be truly angry with you, my love?"

Rhianna's breath caught in her throat, and her heart beat faster. Then, the touch of fingers left Rhianna's face, and Loghain was gone. Once again, the demon stood before them.

Blessed Andraste. How did she do that? And how did she know those things? Could she see directly into Rhianna's heart?

"She is a parasite," Wynne insisted. "She drains his life force. Within days, nothing will be left, and he will die. We must kill her, and free this poor man."

"But this is what  _he_  wants," the demon insisted. She glanced back at the templar, a fond smile upon her lips, and then turned to Rhianna once again. "Ask him yourself, if you like."

Yes. That's what she would do. Rhianna walked forward, and stopped just in front of the templar. "Can he hear me, and understand?"

"If I want him to," the demon replied. She paused, and then spoke to the templar. "We have a visitor, my pet. A friend who has come to say hello for a few minutes. I would like you to talk to her. Tell her the truth about anything she asks."

"A visitor?" He blinked, and seemed to see Rhianna for the first time. "Oh. Hello. Have we met before?"

"No, we haven't met. I just . . . I wonder . . . are you happy here?"

"Am I happy? How can you even ask such a question?" He chuckled. "Have you seen my wife? She is the most beautiful woman in all the world, and my children mean more to me than I can ever say. Of course I am happy. Happier than I ever dreamed I could be."

"What was your life like before? Before you met her, I mean."

"Before? Before I met her, my life was nothing but . . . darkness." He shuddered. "I lived in the Circle Tower, surrounded by mages. I saw horrible things, and the lyrium . . . changed me. I was forced to do things that no man should-" He shook his head. "No. I don't like to think about that. If I had it to do again, I would never have taken those vows. Thankfully, all that is in the past now." A slow smile spread across his face. "The day I met my darling wife was the best day of my life."

Rhianna looked over at the demon; she arched a brow in response.

"Just leave us in peace," the demon murmured. "That is all I ask of you."

"I say we should kill her," Alistair said. "She's obviously evil."

"Is she?" Rhianna asked.

"Of course she is! She's a demon, and she's holding him prisoner. We've got to kill her, and force her to release her hold on him."

"But you heard him," Rhianna murmured. "He's happier now than he was before."

"Besides," the demon took a step closer to Alistair, her lips pursed prettily. "His spirit and mine are melded. If one perishes, so does the other." She leaned close, and murmured near his ear, "You cannot kill me without also killing him."

Alistair took a step back, as his cheeks turned pink.

"Darling?" The templar's voice was warm and rich. "Are you coming to bed soon?"

"I'll just be a moment, my love."

At that, the man smiled again. Perhaps it was the smile of a man under a spell, but it looked genuine, nonetheless. Happy.

Loghain's voice echoed in her ears, and Oren's laughter. Heat rose up in Rhianna's eyes as her mother's beautiful smile came into her mind. She missed them so much. Life without the people she loved was . . . empty. Horrible, and painful, and empty. She could not bring herself to destroy what the demon had given this man. Stripping away his illusions would not be merciful. It would be cruel.

Rhianna turned to her companions. "Let's go."

"What?" Alistair's eyes were wide.

"We can't just leave," Wynne insisted. "This man deserves to be free from that . . . creature. Free to find his own happiness."

"Freedom cannot be given." Sten stood in the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest. "The templar must choose it for himself. If we help this man, what does he learn?" Sten lifted a brow. "Nothing."

"Besides," Rhianna said. "You heard what she said. We can't save his life." She looked at Alistair, and then at Wynne. "Would you rather see him dead? He hated the life he had before, was resentful of his vows. It seems to me she's given him a happiness he might never have had otherwise."

"You have my thanks, Rhianna Cousland," the demon said. Then she turned to the templar, and spoke in a gentle, loving voice. "Come, my pet, we are going for a walk. The children want you to show them all the stars in the night sky."

Rhianna didn't wait for the others to respond. "Come on. We've got to keep going if we're to have any hope of saving the first enchanter."

"Was that the right thing to do?" Daveth murmured, as they left the room. "It seems wrong to leave that man in the hands of a demon. But . . . he did seem happy. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Yes," Rhianna said. "I do believe that's a good thing."

‹›‹O›‹›

Yet another set of stairs.

Now, Rhianna saw her breath with each exhale in the chill air, and the corruption covered nearly every surface from floor to ceiling. And of course, there were more demons. More demons than Rhianna could ever have imagined, and some that Wynne confirmed were abominations: mages, possessed and corrupted, and twisted beyond all recognition. Thus far, however, they had all fallen beneath a combination of weapons and spells. The companions had sustained only minor injuries that Wynne had no trouble healing with magic. That had been an unexpected boon of having the mage accompany them. So much quicker, and more convenient, than using poultices.

Once they'd made it nearly all the way around this level of the tower, they entered a large round chamber. Rhianna stopped in her tracks at the sight of a demon unlike any they had seen before.

It was huge – much taller than any demon they had yet seen. The creature had generally human features, although one side of its face was covered by some sort of caul. Its black eyes reflected no light, and its skin was mottled and deeply wrinkled. An overskirt not unlike that worn by the templars hung from its hips, and tendrils of colored light danced around the creature.

Rhianna glanced around; it seemed to be the only enemy in this chamber, although a man in mage robes lay on the floor nearby. Was he dead?

No . . . unconscious, but not dead. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

"Oh, look. Visitors." When the demon spoke, its voice was slow and deliberate. Lazy, even. "I'd entertain you, but too much effort involved."

"Killing demons is entertainment enough for me, thanks." Rhianna gestured at the man on the floor. "What have you done to him?"

"What have I done? Why, nothing at all," the creature drawled. "He's just resting. Poor lad. He was so very weary." He paused. "You are tired as well, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. Don't worry. We'll have no trouble dealing with you, as we've dealt with all the other monsters we've found here."

In spite of her brave words, Rhianna stifled a yawn. She  _was_  tired. Dreadfully tired, come to think of it, although she'd felt fine just a few minutes ago.

"Ah. You've done so much already, poor dear," he continued. "Killing things is such hard work. You want to join us, don't you?" His featured twisted into something that might have been a smile. "Wouldn't you like to just lay down and forget about all this? Leave it all behind? Just for few minutes."

There was something comforting, almost, about his voice. Calming.

And he was right about one thing. She would love to lay down for a while. Just for a few minutes . . .

"Resist." Wynne's voice was slow and faint, as though the words had traveled a long distance. "You must resist, else we are all lost."

"Why do you fight?" the demon asked. "You deserve more. You deserve a rest. The world will go on without you."

"Can't . . . keep eyes open." Alistair yawned audibly. "Someone . . . pinch . . . me . . ."

The former templar collapsed onto the floor.

Slightly alarmed, Rhianna glanced behind her to see Daveth's eyes roll back into his head before he, too, fell to the ground.

Something about this wasn't right. Not right at all. But there was an ache in her head when she tried to focus on anything, and she was so tired. So very tired.

Why was Alistair laying on the floor?

Her vision blurred, and the world began to slide upward, and then everything went black.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

With a yawn, Rhianna stretched her legs, and reached her arms up over her head as she came slowly awake. When her eyes fluttered open, she found herself on a sofa in front of the merrily burning flames of a lit hearth. She blinked, and glanced around; this was the sitting room of the Gwaren estate in Denerim.

Wait. Denerim? What was she doing in Denerim?

"There you are, my love." A man's voice. A very familiar voice. "I'm not disturbing you, am I? You looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn't want to wake you."

Loghain came to sit close beside her, and wrapped one of his arms around her waist.

Loghain. Loghain was here? Well, of course he would be here; this was his home. But why was  _she_  here?

"Of course you're not disturbing me," she replied. "I was just having a nap. But I'm awake now."

"Good." He leaned over, and pressed his mouth against hers. His lips were warm, and firm, and when Rhianna returned the kiss, he pulled her even closer. She relaxed gratefully into his arms.

Oh, how she had missed this. Missed being close to him like this. It felt so good to be in his arms.

When the kiss ended, she pulled away, just enough to look into his face. "I'm a bit confused about something, though. I can't quite remember what I was doing before I took my nap. Why are we here? In Denerim?"

"Why are we here?" He cocked his head, and one corner of his mouth curved up. "We're staying here in Denerim until the wedding next month, of course."

Someone was getting married?

"You know that Anora insisted we get married here, instead of in Gwaren," he continued. "It would be difficult for her to travel away from the city right now, in her condition, and she's made it very clear she wants to be there when you and I are wed."

Rhianna and Loghain were getting . . . married?

"When you and I are wed?" Happy laughter escaped her lips. They were going to be married, just like she'd always wanted.

"Yes. And I can't wait for that happy day to arrive." A warm smile lit up his face. "Afterwards, I thought we might as well stay here in Denerim through the winter, and leave for Gwaren only after the snows melt." He chuckled. "There's no reason for a frozen wasteland to be your first impression of your new home." He took one of her hands in his own. "Unless you would rather leave Denerim right after the wedding, in spite of the snow? You know I'll do whatever makes you happiest, my love."

"No, I don't mind staying here until spring," she replied. "It will be safer for us not to travel during bad weather, anyway."

They were getting married. Only . . . hadn't her father said no when Loghain asked?

Yes, she was certain of that. Father had said no, but that was a long time ago. A great many things had happened since then. Her father was dead. He'd been murdered by Rendon Howe, and Rhianna had joined the Grey Wardens, and there was a Blight . . .

"What about the darkspawn." She looked up into Loghain's eyes, and bit her bottom lip. "We really shouldn't be here planning a wedding. As much I want to marry you, this is hardly the time. We need to find a way to end the Blight."

"My darling," Loghain laughed, "what are you talking about? Everything is as it should be. The darkspawn have been eradicated completely, and the world is at peace. Don't you remember? The battle at Ostagar was a triumph for all of us! We brought down the archdemon, and set their underground lairs ablaze. We destroyed the darkspawn so thoroughly they will never be able to recover."

"Ostagar? Ostagar wasn't a triumph. The king was killed, and the battle was lost!"

"Cailan? Dead?" Again, he laughed. "Of course the king isn't dead. He fought alongside the Grey Wardens, and no one could have protected him more admirably. I'll admit, it was not the easiest victory we've ever had. There were more darkspawn than we expected, and the creatures had overrun the Tower of Ishal, which might have been deadly if not for your quick thinking. When you couldn't get to the top of the tower in time, you sent Dane with a message, telling me to charge. With my troops and Cailan's, we crushed the darkspawn between us." A furrow formed across Loghain's brow. "You must have had bad dream, Rhianna." He reached up and ran his fingers down the side of her cheek. "But it's over now. Cailan is fine, and the darkspawn are all gone."

She remembered the darkspawn in the tower, but she didn't remember sending Dane anywhere. Hadn't he been with her as she and Alistair fought their way to the top?

Although, if Loghain said it had happened, it must have happened. He wouldn't lie to her. Still, there was so much she didn't remember.

"What happened after the battle? How long have we been in Denerim?"

"We've been here for a month and a half." He frowned deeply, and rubbed at her hand. "Are you sure you're feeling all right, love? Aren't you happy here in Denerim?"

The concern in his eyes melted her heart; he had comforted her so many times, and now he looked so worried. And for what? For nothing. Clearly nothing was wrong. Everything was perfect - the Blight was over, and Rhianna and Loghain were going to be married.

"Of course I'm happy here." She shook her head to clear it. "I'm fine. I promise."

"Good." He pulled her close again, and whispered into her ear. "Because we're meant to dine with Anora this evening, but in the meantime, I had an idea of something we might do to pass the time."

He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just below her ear, and one of his hands slid down her back. His fingers pressed into her flesh and his mouth moved lower on her neck, where he began placing soft kisses, one after another.

Maker, it felt so good. Her breath sped up as warmth bloomed in her chest and between her legs. Her hands reached for his shoulders, and she turned her head to catch his lips with her own. She kissed him with the pent up desire of months and months, more than a year. The last time she'd kissed him was outside the Highever estate after they'd spend the night at Fort Drakon. The last time she could remember kissing him, anyway. Surely, he'd kissed her since then. He must have kissed her when he'd asked her to marry him . . .

With a hand on his chest, she pushed him gently away. "Loghain, I feel strange . . . I don't remember things. There's so much I don't remember. Sending Dane to you, coming here to Denerim." She looked into his eyes. "When did you ask me to marry you?"

"The morning after the battle, of course. How can you have forgotten something like that? I got down on one knee in front of the whole army. I don't think I'd ever seen you as happy before." He cradled her face in his hand. "Love, you've been through so much, but we're here together now, and isn't that all that matters? Isn't that what you've always wanted? There's no need to worry. There's nothing more for you to do. The darkspawn are gone. It's just you and me, and we can spend the rest of our lives enjoying this peace. This rest."

His voice was deep and soothing, and she took in a deep breath, and let it out again. Perhaps she was just overtired.

He pushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "You are so beautiful, Rhianna. So very beautiful."

He thought she was beautiful? "You've never told me that before," she murmured, as a smile spread across her face.

He arched a brow. "Of course I have. I must have told you a thousand times. You are the most beautiful woman in all the world. And I love you."

_I love you._

The smile slipped from her face. He'd never said those words before, either, not that she could remember. And surely, she would have remembered that. Perhaps sending Dane at Ostagar been knocked from her memory; so much had happened during that battle, and she'd probably been injured in various ways. But she would have remembered Loghain saying she was beautiful. She would have remembered him telling her he loved her.

"Loghain, I don't understand what's happening here. Something is wrong. Something is . . . strange."

"Nothing is wrong, darling." He leaned forward to kiss her, and for a moment she moved her lips against his, but then she pulled away.

"No." She put a hand on his chest to keep some distance between them. "I don't know what it is, but something doesn't feel right."

"Everything is fine, my love. You've just been under too much stress, for far too long." He grasped her shoulders gently, and pulled her against his chest. "You just need to rest. We'll do that together. Don't worry. Just relax." He began to stroke her hair.

"No." She pushed herself away from him again. "There are still darkspawn. The archdemon isn't dead. And you . . ." He'd never told her he loved her before. She would have remembered that. "You're hiding something from me. What is it? What really happened?"

Now he grabbed her shoulders, and his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. "Foolish child! I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face? Can you not be content with the peace I offer?" He sounded different now. As though there was another voice underneath Loghain's. The voice of something ancient and sinister.

What in the Maker's name was happening? Had Loghain been possessed by a demon?

"Loghain, please! This isn't like you. We can't just pretend everything is all right when it isn't. There are still darkspawn out there, I'm sure of it. We can't just ignore them."

"It seems only war and death will satisfy you." He stood, and towered over her, his face grim. His eyes glowed briefly red. "So be it! Have your war and your darkspawn. May they be your doom!" A longsword appeared in his hand, and he slashed down at her with it.

Rhianna sprang to her feet to dodge his attack, and reached over her shoulder out of habit. Surprisingly, her hand hit the pommel of her sword, even though she hadn't seemed to be wearing it only moments before. As she leapt backwards to avoid another blow, she drew her sword and crouched to steady herself for his next charge.

Loghain rushed forward and slashed at her wildly. This was nothing at all like his usual precise fighting style. She parried the blow easily, and stepped sideways. She brought her blade around and slashed at him. He failed to block the strike, and her blade tore through his chest. She gasped in horror; she hadn't meant to hurt him. She was merely defending herself. But the blood that oozed from the wound was dark and thick, and flowed slowly, like molasses.

Blessed Andraste. Loghain hadn't been possessed by a demon. This wasn't Loghain at all; it was merely a demon wearing his face.

It snarled at her, and charged again, but its attack was clumsy. Rhianna blocked the blow, and slashed at the creature again and again, and soon the thing lay motionless on the floor. Once she was certain it was not going to get up and attack her again, she turned her back on it. It wasn't really Loghain – she  _knew_  it wasn't really him - but even so, the sight of his face on a bloody, dead body made her want to throw up.

He'd said they were going to be married. He'd said the darkspawn were defeated, and Cailan was still alive. She and Loghain were going to be married, and live in Gwaren, and something in her gut twisted, and her eyes filled with tears. For a few minutes, she'd believed it. She'd believed all of it, and he'd kissed her and it had felt so  _good_ , and then it was torn away from her again.

Was this what the desire demon had offered the templar? A beautiful fantasy like this? A single, hot tear traveled down her cheek.

Perhaps she shouldn't have questioned any of it. Perhaps she should have stayed. Stayed here with Loghain.

Only it wasn't Loghain, not really. It wasn't even a good imitation. The cadence of his speech had been wrong, and he'd been too free with pet names. And, of course, the real Loghain had never told her he loved her. A sobbed welled up from deep in her chest, and she stumbled toward the couch, afraid her legs would no longer hold her. 

Then a sound like rushing water hit her ears, and the walls of the room began to shimmer as though she were looking at them through water. She could see through them, briefly, and then the walls vanished.

She glanced at her new surroundings. There was a rocky path beneath her feet, but not far beyond its edges lay . . . nothing. Just empty space that glowed in the colors of the sunset: orange, and purple, and pink. Far up above hung what looked like a rocky island made of obsidian, with a dark stone castle upon it. A glittering mist hung in the air, and the place smelled strange. Cold, and sharp, like the way the Joining potion had tasted, without the sickening sweetness.

_Blessed Andraste_.

What in the Maker's name was this place?

‹›‹O›‹›

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta readers, Sehnsuchttraum, Psyche Sinclair, and Amanda Kitswell, and also to all my fabulous reviewers: KatDancer, Irish_Changeling, Nymra, and Vicky79.


	28. No real alternative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions must find their way out of the Fade.

‹›‹O›‹›

The Fade.

That's what this place must be. Where humans and elves came in their dreams, although this seemed so much more tangible, more real, than most of the dreams Rhianna could remember. But this had to be the Fade. What other explanation was there for her presence in a place that seemed to defy the laws of the real world?

She glanced around. The ground beneath her feet was dry and cracked, like the bed of an empty lake during a drought. Everything her eyes could see was brown and lifeless, devoid of living plants or any sort of wildlife. There were only clumps of dried grass, and gnarled dead trees, and in the distance, a lone, abandoned column. And although the world seemed to stretch out far into the distance in every direction she could see, the path on which she stood extended in only one direction, flanked on both sides by warmly glowing nothingness.

She didn't like it here at all. Something in the air hummed faintly, not like music but as if the place itself were somehow alive, and her spine tingled uncomfortably, as though she were being watched from somewhere up above.

Still, there was nothing else to do, so she began to walk along the path. She passed more dead trees, and a bizarre statue, and every so often she came upon strange crystals that grew up out of the ground. They glowed softly blue, and there was a coldness to the air around this. Raw lyrium, perhaps.

And all the while, images of Loghain flashed through her mind. The way he had smiled as he leaned close to kiss her. The gentle pressure of his hand on hers. The furrow in his brow when she'd asked so many questions. The warmth in his eyes when he'd told her he loved her.

His body, lying broken in a pool of dark blood on the floor of the Gwaren estate.

Of course, it wasn't really him. It had never really been  _him_ , but she'd believed in it, for a few minutes anyway. For half an instant, she'd even believed it when he'd told her she was beautiful. Words Loghain had never actually said. Words she had wanted so desperately to hear.

_I love you_.

The memory of it made her want to curl up in a ball and cry, but that wasn't an option just now. She needed to find her companions and find a way out of this place. The Fade, or wherever it was she had landed.

So she kept following the path.

Eventually, she approached a ruined building of some sort: a crumbling wall that listed to one side, and a few stained and weather-worn columns. She entered what might have been a courtyard once, and blinked in surprise to find another person standing in the shadows.

He seemed even more surprised by Rhianna's appearance than she was by his.

"Wh-who are you? Where did you come from? Are you a demon?" He was a handsome man, with black hair that brushed his shoulders, and warm brown eyes. A mage, judging by his robes. Unless he was yet another demon. There was something vaguely familiar about him, as though she'd seen him before. She couldn't remember where, though.

"No, I'm not a demon. My name is Rhianna, and I'm a Grey Warden. Are you one of the mages from the Circle?"

"Yes. I'm Niall, of the Fereldan Circle of Magi. And you're a Grey Warden? How in the world did you end up here?"

"My companions and I came to the Circle, seeking help against the Blight. But when we learned of the . . . troubles you were having, we offered to help." She paused. "This place . . . are we in the Fade?"

"Yes, of course." He glanced around, as if surprised by the question. "Where else would we be? Good job, by the way, getting out of that trap."

"Trap?"

"Whatever dream you were just in. The demon traps everyone that comes here in a dream it thinks they can't - or won't - try to leave."

Ah. That made sense. In Rhianna's case, the demon had very nearly succeeded.

"So, this demon . . . it's a desire demon, then?"

"What? No." Niall shook his head. "It's no desire demon. Didn't you see it before you ended up here? It's a sloth demon."

"Oh." She did vaguely remember a demon with a lazy voice. "But I thought desire demons were the ones who give visions of what you want most?"

"That is their specialty, but any demon is capable of giving visions. They pull images and memories from your mind, and construct a reality they hope will be believable. Desire demons just give the most convincing, most seductive ones. Although I suppose this demon's illusion was convincing enough for me; for a while, I thought I'd escaped, but it turns out I've been wandering these empty, grey spaces for a lifetime."

So, she'd been trapped by a demon. Which meant the others were probably here, too. She could vaguely recall seeing Alistair collapse, and then Daveth. Perhaps all of them had succumbed to the demon's suggestion. But where were they, then? Niall was the first person she'd seen in this place, other than the imposter Loghain.

"I don't understand. If we're here, doesn't that mean we're asleep in the real world?"

"Yes, precisely."

"Well . . . can't we do something to force ourselves awake again?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "It's not that simple. It's not a natural sleep, but one that was induced by the demon. Do you think I haven't tried to find my way back? You can't just wake up. You have to find the exit, only it's guarded by the sloth demon who controls this realm. I think he needs to be defeated before he'll release his hold."

"Well, that doesn't make sense. I fought the demon, and killed it. The one in my dream, I mean. So why am I still here?"

"Oh, no. The demon you fought . . . that wasn't the master of this part of the Fade. Merely some lesser demon under the sloth demon's command. As I said, it's not that simple."

"Where is the sloth demon, then? I'll kill him next, if that's what's required."

"That's trick, isn't it? Finding him. You'll search and search and search, but you'll just go from one nightmare to the next, and never manage to get to the one where the demon lives. There's always an obstacle. Always. Obstacles and mad things. A river of flame before a portal, or a door that shows you freedom through a keyhole that no key will fit. You'll see the path but be unable to get to it, and it taunts you and drives you mad."

That sounded . . . unpleasant. But surely this place had to make some sort of sense. And there had to be a way out.

"Why are you here, anyway?" she asked.

"Me?" He sighed. "Through sheer stupidity, or perhaps very, very bad luck. I was trying to save the Circle when I encountered the demon." He closed his eyes, briefly. "Trying to bring the Litany to the first enchanter. It was our only hope of saving the Circle. But it's too late. No doubt, everyone's dead by now."

Rhianna realized where she had seen him before.

"It's not too late," she insisted. "A great many people have died, but not everyone. When we arrived at the Circle, we found several people alive downstairs. And we were in the process of searching the tower for survivors before we got dragged here. One of your senior enchanters, Wynne, is with us. And you're alive, too. I saw you, on the floor of the chamber where the demon waited. You were unconscious, but still breathing. It's not too late for any of us."

"You make it sound so easy. But I've been here for what feels like a lifetime, and I'm telling you, there is no way out."

What was it he'd said? He was trying to find the first enchanter? "What happened back there, anyway? In the Circle, I mean. Blood mages everywhere? How did it start?"

"How did it start?" He took in a slow breath. "A man called Uldred is the mastermind behind it all. He suggested, at a meeting of the senior enchanters, that the Circle should ally itself with Teyrn Loghain. Uldred said the teyrn had promised to give the Circle mages more freedom in exchange for our assistance in fighting the darkspawn. Most everyone agreed it was a good idea. The Libertarians were enthusiastic, right from the start, led by Enchanter Gravid, who said we were ready to be out from under the scornful eye of the templars. Soon, the Aequitarians were also in agreement that it was time to demand the templars withdraw. Only Luvan, speaking for the Loyalists, was not in favor. Then Wynne stood up, and told Irving of the teyrn's treachery at Ostagar. Said he betrayed the king and left him to die. She said neither Loghain nor Uldred could be trusted. And that's when everything fell apart."

All this talk of loyalists and libertarians made little sense, but Rhianna certainly understood the significance of Wynne's involvement. It sounded like Alistair all over again.

"Uldred made excuses, of course," Niall continued. "Said he knew nothing about what happened in the battle, but Wynne was having none of it. She implored Irving to do something, and when Uldred tried to leave, Irving stopped him. Irving threatened to have Uldred locked up, until the templars could investigate Wynne's claims, at which point Uldred panicked and let loose a bolt of energy that flung us all against the far wall. When the fighting started, Uldred tried to summon something . . . or some things . . . but they overwhelmed him, and when his screaming stopped, Uldred was . . . gone. He had become something horrible and twisted, something purely evil: an abomination. It was horrible. When I saw it, I ran for my life. I gathered some of my fellows, and we obtained the Litany from the stockroom. But I saw my friends fall, one by one, and now it's my turn."

"The Litany?"

"The Litany of Adralla. It's a spell. A . . . a chant that protects your mind from blood magic. They can get into your mind and take control of your body, but the Litany protects against that. We were going to take it to the Harrowing Chamber and use it to defeat the blood mages. But instead, I ended up here." He scoffed bitterly. "I try to do something heroic for once in my life and I get trapped by sloth. Ironic, really."

"We may be trapped here for now, but there must be a way out of this place. And we're going to find it. Together."

"Nothing dampens your spirit, does it? I don't know whether to admire you or pity you." He shrugged. "I believed it once, too. It seems like eons ago. But this place drains you of everything. Hope. Feeling. Life. No, I cannot go with you. I'd be of no use."

Fair enough.

"Then I'll find the way out, and come back for you," she said gently. "I think I'll start by trying to find my companions. If Wynne is here, she might know something that would be of use in getting out."

"They're probably still trapped in whatever dreams the demon gave them." His expression made it clear he thought searching for them - searching at all - was a waste of time, but then he shrugged. "If you do get out, take the Litany of Adralla from my body. Use it to defeat Uldred and the blood mages. The Circle is all that matters now."

‹›‹O›‹›

When she left Niall behind, it took her a while to get her bearings. Niall's comment about obstacles and mad things turned out to be truer than Rhianna could have imagined. At times, things looked familiar - as though she were in the library of the Circle Tower, or at the waterfront in Denerim - except her surroundings never looked exactly right. The shelves in the library stood at strange angles, and in the harbor, there was a ship that looked just like the  _Angharad_ , except it floated in a small pool of water that appeared to be in the middle of a desert. And a layer of perpetual mist hung in the air, giving everything an unnatural glow.

She passed through what seemed to be a hundred portals. Some of them took her nowhere at all, and some sent her back where she started, and only occasionally did she feel she'd made any progress at all.

And almost everywhere she went, things attacked her. Darkspawn. Templars. Demons. Mages. She fought and fought and fought until she could barely lift her sword arm, but still enemies kept coming, everywhere she turned.

Finally, she passed through a door and, on the other side, nothing immediately attacked her.

She stopped, and took a slow, deep breath. Wherever she was, it didn't look like a place she'd been to before – either in the Fade or the real world. She was outdoors - or what passed for outdoors, with the disturbing orange sky up above. After taking a minute to rest, she began to walk through the rocky terrain.

As she rounded a corner, happy barking got her attention, and she looked down to see a mabari puppy run toward her at full speed. Rhianna dropped to her knees, and held open her arms. The puppy leapt at her, and began to lick her face enthusiastically.

"Gracey! Gracey, stop that!"

A young girl of ten or eleven years approached. She had light brown skin, and her long, black hair was done up neatly in two braids that hung past her shoulders. She wore a simple gown of light blue linen, and had a flower tucked behind her ear. She ran up to Rhianna.

"I'm sorry about the puppy. She hasn't learned not to go around attacking people!"

"It's all right," Rhianna laughed. She scooped Gracey up, and got to her feet. After giving the puppy a kiss on the top of her fuzzy brown head, she handed the hound back to the girl. "I love dogs, and your friend here is adorable."

"She is cute, isn't she?" the girl grinned. "I just love her. My brother gave her to me. Oh, and I'm Jessa."

"Hello, Jessa. I'm Rhianna." She seemed to be a sweet girl, but Rhianna was wary. Chances are, she was merely another demon in disguise. Although for what purpose, Rhianna couldn't guess. This was no place she'd ever been before, so it seemed unlikely to be another attempt to snare her into staying.

"Rhianna," the girl repeated. "That's a pretty name. Do you live around here?"

"No, I don't. I'm just visiting. You said something about your brother? Where is he?"

"My brother's at the house, helping Mum with some chores. His name is Daveth. Would you like to meet him?"

Daveth? Ah, so that explained things. This must be his dream. There was more than a passing resemblance between Daveth and the little girl. His sister.

An ache bloomed in her chest. This wasn't really his sister, though, no matter how much he would want her to be.

"Yes, please," Rhianna replied. "I'd like very much to meet him."

"All right! Come with me." Jessa took Rhianna's hand, and began to lead the way down the path, skipping playfully on every other step. "I know he'll be very happy to meet you. We don't get a lot of visitors here."

They approached a pretty cottage with a thatched roof. Here, flowers did grow, although they were stunted and their colors were dull, as though they weren't real flowers, but ones painted on parchment and left to fade in the sun. On the far side of the house, they found Daveth chopping wood. The swish of an axe whispered through the air, and then a sharp crack as a log split in two. Daveth grabbed another log from a pile nearby, and set it on the stump, but before he swung again, he noticed their approach.

"Oh, hello, there," he said cheerfully, and set the axe down beside him. His linen shirt was unlaced at the throat, to reveal the toned muscles of his chest, and his sleeves were rolled up past his forearms. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, and his eyes lit up with warmth.

"I've found a friend," Jessa explained as she set the puppy down on the ground. "This is Rhianna. She was walking up the road when Gracey attacked her."

Daveth's brow arched. "Gracey attacked?"

"Yes," Rhianna laughed. "She she most certainly did. Very nearly licked my face off." Rhianna bent to scratch behind the mabari's ears. "You're on your way to becoming a fine, fierce warrior, aren't you?"

Gracey barked happily, and then ran in a circle, chasing her stub of a tail.

"Maker!" Daveth threw back his head and laughed. "And we thought naming her after Andraste's Grace would give her a gentle disposition." He turned to Rhianna. "So, is there something I can do for you? We don't get many visitors around here."

He didn't seem to remember who Rhianna was. Did he even know this was the Fade? "To be honest, I was hoping I could convince you to come with me. Away from here, and back to Ferelden."

"Back to Ferelden? Why on earth would I want to go back there?"

Oh. Perhaps he did realize this was the Fade.

"There's nothing for my family there now," he continued, "and we're happy here in Ostwick. Besides, not that I'm complaining, but why are you asking  _me?_ You and I don't know one another, do we? I'm sure I'd have remembered seeing you around here before."

"Of course we know one another, Daveth. We met at Ostagar, remember? And we joined the Grey Wardens together. More recently, we've been traveling around Ferelden trying to find a way to end the Blight."

"Ostagar? Grey Wardens?" He laughed again. "Just my luck. Finally, a pretty girl wanders into my garden and asks me to run away with her, and she turns out to be crazy." He shook his head. "I've never been to Ostagar, and I don't know anything about Grey Wardens. We've been living here, minding our own business, for the past five years."

"Daveth?" A voice called from the house. A woman stood in the doorway: a lovely woman with high cheekbones and a straight nose, and the same dark eyes and black hair shared by Daveth and his sister. "Oh. I'm sorry to interrupt. I didn't realize you had company." When she smiled, fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes.

"It's all right, Mum," Daveth replied. "We were just talking. This is Rhianna. Jessa and Gracey found her on the road."

"Ah, isn't that lovely? We don't get many visitors here."

No doubt. In fact, Rhianna would be willing to wager that she was the first. Ever.

"Rhianna's trying to convince me to go back to Ferelden," Daveth grinned.

"What's this?" The woman scoffed. "Go back to Ferelden? Why in the world would you ever consider such a thing? You have everything here that you've ever wanted. Everything you could ever possibly want. Aren't you happy here?"

"Of course I'm happy, Mum. Don't worry. I don't have any intention of leaving."

"No, don't leave!" Jessa's voice was plaintive. "And Rhianna should stay, as well!" The girl looked up into Rhianna face. "Please say you'll stay. Gracey and I both want you to stay. We'll have so much fun together!"

"That's very generous," Rhianna said gently. "But I can't stay." She turned back to Daveth, and held his gaze. "And neither can you. You have to come with me. This isn't real, Daveth. None of it. We're in the Fade, and this is all just an illusion."

What if that didn't matter, though? Just how compelling was this illusion? He was here with his mother and his sister; where were they back in the real world? What if they were dead? That might make it that much more difficult for him to tear himself away.

"Such a pity." Daveth shook his head. "Very pretty, but crazy. Look, I don't want to hurt your feelings or anything, but like I said, I've never met you before-"

"Are you so sure about that? Don't you remember our Joining? Jory tried to leave, and Duncan ran him through with a sword? And then you drank from the chalice. And afterwards, you had a horrible dream. About a dragon? Don't you remember?"

"Duncan?" A crease formed along his brow. "That does sound familiar . . . fast for an old bugger, wasn't he?"

"Yes! That's him. And the archdemon? Don't you remember the archdemon?"

"I . . ."

"What's all this?" Daveth's mother had both her hands on her hips. "Dragons and killing people with swords? My son has never been involved in such tomfoolery. And I think, perhaps, it's time for you to leave." She gave Rhianna a pointed look. "I'm sorry, but we don't need any trouble here. That's why we left Ferelden. To leave all our troubles behind. So go. Just . . . go. Leave us in peace. Daveth has worked so hard, and has done so much for his family. Now, he deserves this rest, this happiness."

Rhianna ignored her, and put a hand on Daveth's shoulder. "Please, Daveth. You must remember. The chalice, filled with darkspawn blood. And then the Battle of Ostagar. You were hit over the head."

A hand went up to his forehead, and he rubbed at the spot where he'd been injured. "And when I woke up . . . the battle was over."

"Yes! And then," she prompted, "you made your way to . . ."

"Lothering! And those fellows tried to take you into custody. Loghain's men." His brow knitted together. "But if I'm a Grey Warden, what am I doing here?"

"You're not a Grey Warden! Don't listen to even one more word this woman is saying!" The demon with his mother's face sounded agitated now, and her hands were balled into fists. "Daveth, darling, don't listen. Don't you see what is happening here? Your father must have sent her. We can't let her leave; what if she tells him where we are now? If he finds us . . ."

His father?

"Daveth." Rhianna squeezed his shoulder gently. "Just think about it for a minute. Listen to my voice. Think about Duncan, and the Joining, and the battle. You'll know I'm telling the truth. That isn't your mother, not really. I know it looks just like her, sounds like her. But isn't there something a bit . . . off? About all of this? Look at the flowers."

The woman left the house, and strode up angrily to Rhianna. "I told you to leave. You are no longer welcome here! I don't know what sort of game you're playing, but you are not a nice young woman at all. My Daveth wants nothing to do with women who tell lies."

"Mum, it's all right." He ran a hand through his hair, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Just stop talking. Everyone. Stop."

"Listen to your mother, Daveth." The woman's voice had shifted, just as Loghain's had. As though there were a second, deeper voice lurking beneath.

Daveth opened his eyes and turned toward her. "I said stop!"

"You worthless, miserable creature," the demon snarled. "You never were good for anything. You abandoned me, abandoned your sister. Left us with your father, knowing what he would do!"

Oh, Maker. If this went the way her encounter with "Loghain" had gone, things were about to get very ugly. Rhianna reached for her sword; the last thing she wanted was for Daveth to have to kill a demon with his mother's face, or that of his sister.

Daveth's eyes narrowed. "You're not my mother." He shook his head. "I don't know what you are, but you are not my mother."

The demon shrieked, and charged at Daveth, her hands twisted into claws. Rhianna drew her sword, and leapt between them. She didn't slash with her blade; instead, she drove her shoulder into the demon's chest, and knocked it back a few steps.

"You don't have to do this," Rhianna warned. "Just let us go. There's no need for violence. Because I promise, this is one battle you will not win." She hefted her sword threateningly. Rhianna held the creature's gaze.

The demon growled, and then turned it's eyes on Daveth. "You'll regret this. There's no way out of this place, and once you've wandered these lands for half a lifetime, you'll wish you'd stayed here. Stayed with people who love you."

Then, in a wisp of smoke, she vanished. Nearby, Jessa hissed, and her mouth gaped open unnaturally, to display rows of wickedly pointed teeth. Then she, too, disappeared.

Daveth turned to Rhianna, his eyes dull and horrified. "What in the Maker's name just happened?"

"They were just demons-" Rhianna began, but before she could finish her sentence, Daveth began to shimmer and change, much as the Gwaren estate had done after she'd killed the false Loghain.

"What? Wha-"

Daveth disappeared, as did the house and the yard, and the wood cutting stump, and the puppy.

‹›‹O›‹›

The events that followed were now little more than a blur in Rhianna's memory.

More fighting, just about everywhere she turned. Huge men made of stone. Templars inexplicably on fire. An ogre, and a creature who seemed to be made of molten lava. She spent hours and hours trying to find her way through a labyrinth of passages, and fighting through darkspawn. She dodged spells, and boulders, and arrows, and countless blows from axes and swords.

She did manage to find all her companions, one by one, each of them in a dream of their own. Leliana believed herself back in the Chantry. Alistair was with his sister and her children. Dane was back in Highever, basking in the sun while a very young Oren tried to climb up onto the hound's back. Wynne was surrounded by the corpses of dead apprentices, which seemed a poor sort of vision to make her inclined to stay, yet Wynne was more difficult to convince than any of the others that this was all merely a dream created by a demon.

Only Morrigan and Sten had been aware that they were in the Fade. A demon that wore Flemeth's face and hurled insults and abuse had trapped Morrigan, and the young witch was happy to be freed. Sten, however, wanted to stay with the members of his vanguard – men he knew to be long dead - knowing full well it was merely an illusion. He said he'd had enough of death and dishonor, and had nothing left to fight for. Rhianna had been able to convince him to return, but only after reminding him that his dead comrades were owed a victory.

And each time, once they realized they had been trapped in a dream, her companions disappeared as Daveth had done. Even Wynne, long before Rhianna could ask her for any insight about getting out of this Maker-damned place. Now, she had no idea where any of them were, and seemed no closer to finding the exit than she had been when she arrived.

Perhaps Niall was right, and there truly was no way out of this madness.

‹›‹O›‹›

An ancient Tevinter ruin, not unlike Ostagar, but not Ostagar itself. Rhianna was certain she'd never been in this place before - or rather, its real-world equivalent. She was on a paved walkway, and passed beneath arches whose points stretched up into the sky. In places, paving stones had broken away, and vanished into the nothingness beneath her; she had to watch her step to avoid falling. She didn't want to think about what might happen if she lost her footing and fell into the void below.

Overhead, a bird gave a harsh, angry cry, but when Rhianna looked up to greet it, all she saw was a flash of black wing, before it disappeared from sight.

After a few minutes of walking, the corridor came to and end and a courtyard lay beyond. Even before she saw movement, she heard the sounds of battle: the clash of metal against metal, and guttural shouts and grunts.

Was this was where her companions had ended up?

Rhianna drew her sword as she ran.

In the courtyard, a fight was indeed in progress: a dozen darkspawn swarmed around a lone woman who was definitely not one of Rhianna's companions.

She was tall - nearly as tall as Sten - and wiry, with long black hair that hung in a single thick braid down her back. Her armor was unusual: a black steel cuirass decorated with platinum or white gold, and an overskirt that hung down to her knees. She fought with a long, wickedly curved blade.

Rhianna rushed in to assist; she killed two of the darkspawn before they even realized she was there. When they did notice her, and turned to engage her, Rhianna let all thoughts slip away, and allowed her body to take over the fight.

Attack, parry, retreat, dodge, attack.

She fought her way to the woman's side, and they fell into step, back to back, and easily took down the remaining darkspawn.

When the last hurlock fell, the two women turned to face one another. "Well met," the tall woman said. "I appreciate the assistance."

Rhianna very nearly didn't bother to answer; she expected the woman to vanish, as all the others had done now that the enemies had been defeated. That didn't happen, though. The woman continued to stand there, gazing at Rhianna expectantly. Nor was Rhianna herself pulled into some new realm.

"You're more than welcome. I'm Rhianna." She gave a cross-armed bow. "It's good to meet you."

The woman lifted a brow, and belatedly copied the bow Rhianna had made, as though the gesture was unfamiliar. "Nemain," she replied. "I am called Nemain." She had a rather husky voice, and an accent with rich, rounded vowels, one Rhianna could not remember having heard before. For that matter, she didn't look Fereldan, either. She had warm, olive skin, and dark, almond shaped eyes, and a prominent, hawk-like nose. Her face was tattooed, and she wore dark paint around her eyes, even more than Morrigan generally wore.

Was she another demon? Or perhaps a mage trapped here, as Niall had been? Considering how tall she was, perhaps she was a Qunari.

"What are these creatures?" The woman wrinkled her nose, and prodded one of them with the toe of her boot.

"They're called darkspawn. They generally live underground, but right now Ferelden is being plagued by a Blight, so they're attacking people aboveground as well."

"They seem . . . unnatural, somehow." She shook her head as if to clear it, and then glanced around. "What can you tell me of this place?" Nemain asked. "Where are we?"

"This is the Fade," Rhianna replied. "I'm here courtesy of a demon. My companions and I were at Kinloch Hold when it put us to sleep."

"Kinloch . . . Hold?"

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "The tower that houses the Fereldan Circle of Magi?"

"Oh. Of course." Something in the woman's expression made Rhianna think she didn't know what that meant.

"You're not from Ferelden, are you?"

"Is it that obvious?" She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "Ferelden? That is the name of this place?"

"Well, it's the name of the place I'm from . . . but this is the Fade. A . . . dream world? I suppose it's possible you could have found your way here from anywhere in Thedas."

"I . . . no, I have not heard of Ferelden before. I think I entered this Fade through a tear between the worlds, far away from here. Very far." She glanced at their surroundings. "And now I seek a way out again."

"Then you're a mage?" She must be; weren't mages the only ones who could travel consciously in and out of the Fade?

"A user of magic?" She shook her head rather vigorously. "No. Not that."

Perhaps she  _was_  a demon. Although, she put on quite a convincing act of being confused, if that were the case. More likely, she was just another unlucky soul who had somehow found her way into this nightmarish place.

"Do you know a way out?" Nemain asked. "I have been here for some time - I'm not sure how long, to be honest. It feels like several days. But as yet, I've found no place that looked as though it would take me back into the world."

"You and I are searching for the same thing, then. So far, I've found no exit. I suspect that we'll have to face the sloth demon that trapped me here, and defeat it, before we'll be able to get back."

"Do you know where this demon is to be found?"

"Not exactly," Rhianna admitted. "But I do know where I've been before, so we can focus on searching in new places."

"Very well." Nemain picked up her pack, and slung it over her shoulder. "I am ready to begin this search."

The thought of having a companion cheered Rhianna more than anything had done since this ordeal began.

"Let's go, then."

‹›‹O›‹›

Together, the two women made much faster progress than Rhianna had on her own. Crowds of darkspawn fell before them, and templars, and golems, and strange wispy creatures that seemed to be made of nothing but light.

Finally, they came through a portal into a place that was different from anywhere they had been before. Not merely different in the way the other places had been different from one another; the corrupt version of the Circle Tower still had similarities with the corrupt maze of hallways that seemed to lead nowhere, and the corrupt Denerim wharf. But this? While they were obviously still in the Fade, this place was different in a way Rhianna had not seen before.

What was most notable was the quality of the light. It was brighter here, sharper. There was a freshness to the air that was invigorating, as though a wind had blown in from somewhere . . . outside, perhaps?

Could she possibly be near the way out from this endless dream? Near some sort of opening to the real world?

Rhianna licked her finger and held it up in the air; the breeze came from her left, so she began to walk in that direction.

In a rocky clearing, they found a lone creature. A tall, skeletal thing that looked like an animated corpse in elaborate robes.

"My, my . . . what do we have here?" The voice was familiar. Lazy. As though the demon couldn't be bothered to open his mouth all the way to let the words come out.

Sloth.

"Don't you remember me?" Rhianna took a step closer. "I remember you."

"Ha ha! An escaped slave? You do have some gall, coming all this way to challenge me. I'm almost impressed."

"What? Where am I this time?" Alistair's voice rang through the clearing. "Oh! Rhianna. It's you! Thank the Maker."

One by one, the rest of her companions appeared, and the demon glided smoothly across the clearing, hovering inches above the ground, as though taking inventory of them.

"So many rebellious children, so lively and animated." He glided back toward Rhianna. "But playtime is over. You all have to go back now."

"You will not hold us, demon," Wynne replied. "We found each other in this place, and you cannot stand against us. We will fight for our freedom."

"But why would you want to fight? There is nothing for you out there. If you go back quietly," the demon drawled, "I'll do better this time. I'll make you much happier. Happier than you could ever be out in the nasty, scary, real world."

"The only thing that will make me happy," Rhianna replied, "is to return to the real world."

The creature peered down at Rhianna. "I could make it just like the real world, if that's what you want. But that isn't what you really want, is it? Wasn't there someone in your dream who isn't there for you anymore in the real world? Wouldn't you rather be with him? The two of you could be happy indefinitely. Together. That's what you want. I know it is."

"No. That is not what I want." She pushed the image of Loghain's face from her mind, and focused instead on the strange cadence of his speech, his false words, all the ways in which this Loghain was nothing at all like the real flesh-and-blood man. "I'll make my own happiness, thank you."

"That's disappointing. And so very selfish." It raised one of its arms and wagged a skeletal finger in front of her face. "Can't you think about someone other than yourself for once? I'm hurt. So very, very hurt."

"You have only yourself to blame for that. None of us asked to brought here, and now we just want to go back."

"Foolish girl. Why would you rather return to all that death and destruction? And loneliness? When I can give you everything you've wanted."

"The only thing I want is to be out of here. Now." Rhianna drew her sword. "And if killing you is what is required, then so be it."

"You wish to battle me?" It sounded genuinely surprised. "Very well. If that's what will make you happy." The thing floated backward and lifted its arms to either side. "You will learn to bow to your betters, mortal."

With a flash of brilliant gold light, the demon transformed into an ogre. It swung its enormous, horned head slowly, taking in the entire company with beady, black eyes. Then it threw its head back and gave a deafening roar.

In a flurry of motion, the battle was met. Alistair and Sten rushed toward the creature, swords drawn. Rhianna began to work her way behind the beast, with Nemain close behind. Arrows and spells flew from the edges of the clearing.

Sten slashed at the thing, and pierced its blue-grey flesh. A swipe of one massive arm sent Alistair flying through the air, but he got back up to his feet, and charged forward again. Rhianna did her best to hamstring one of the ogre's massive legs while the beast was stunned. Within minutes, the creature's strength seemed to flag, but just when it seemed ready to topple to the ground, another blinding flash of light filled the clearing, and the demon changed form again.

They attacked this new creature, a thing made of molten rock and flame. Morrigan sent spells to freeze it, and Daveth and Leliana's arrows opened deep cracks and furrows in its hide, but again, just when it seemed they had gotten the upper hand, it changed its form. As they continued to fight, it did this again, and then again, and finally, returned to its original wraith-like visage.

Now, it seemed to lack the strength to transform itself. One final blow from Alistair's sword, and, without so much as a scream or flash of light, the thing fell to the ground, and lay still.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Rhianna's eyes fluttered open, and she glanced at her surroundings.

Thank the Maker. She was back in the chamber of the tower where they'd first encountered the sloth demon. Back in Kinloch Hold. Back in the real world. Along with all her companions, and Nemain. All of them had made it back through. And the demon was nowhere to be seen.

Niall. What about Niall?

Rhianna struggled to her feet, and hurried to the side of mage who lay prone on the floor.

_Please, Andraste. Let him be breathing. Let him still be alive._

She placed the palm of her hand against his cheek. His skin was cool to the touch, but the slightest puff of breath escaped his nostrils, and warmed her hand.

"Wynne," she called. "Please! He's still alive! Please, is there anything you can do for him?"

"Oh, Niall!" The mage knelt at Rhianna's side. "Poor man. I didn't realize he'd been dragged into the demon's realm, as well." She closed her eyes as her hands hovered just above his body. "Yes, he's still breathing. I don't think it's too late . . ." She murmured the words of a healing spell, and the bluish light spiraled its way into his body.

A hush fell over the room as everyone stared silently at Niall. For nearly a minute, he lay almost entirely still. Then, a slight shudder ran through his body. And another. He coughed, softly, and then his eyes fluttered open.

_Thank you, Andraste._

"Wynne?" His voice was raspy and thin. "Is that you?"

"I'm here, Niall," she said gently. "Everything's going to be all right." She helped him pull himself up into a sitting position. "You need to take things easy, though. Go slow. I have no idea how long you were in the Fade, but you're very lucky to still be alive."

"To be honest, I find it difficult to believe I'm still alive," he admitted. His eyes landed on Rhianna. "You! You're the one I spoke with in the Fade. You defeated the demon. I never thought . . . I never expected you to free yourself. To free us both."

"You were right," she replied. "We just needed to find and kill the sloth demon, which was a bit easier said than done. But I was able to find all my friends, and," she glanced at Nemain, "I even made a new one. And together, we found the way out."

Wynne seemed to notice the newcomer for the first time, and a slight frown crept across her face, but she said nothing.

Niall fumbled with the pocket of his robes, and produced a darkly stained scroll of parchment. "Here." He offered it to Wynne. "It's the Litany of Adralla. I don't have the strength to come along, so you take it. It will protect you from the worst of the blood magic."

This brought a tentative smile to the older woman's face, and she unfurled the scroll. "Yes. Oh, yes. This should protect us when we face Uldred. Assuming he still lives, and has not already been destroyed by the demon who possessed him."

Niall coughed softly. "Go. Go, and end this. I just wish . . . I wish I could do more to help. But my strength is gone, sucked away by the demon to fuel the nightmares of his realm. I doubt I will still be alive by the time this is over."

"Don't be ridiculous, Niall," Wynne chastised. "You're not going to die. You just need some time to rest, and recover your strength. We have defeated all of the demons and abominations in the lower levels of the tower. You should be safe here until we can find out what has happened to Irving, and stop Uldred's madness."

"Niall is right about one thing, though," Rhianna murmured. "We should go. I've no idea how much time we wasted wandering around the Fade."

"Yes," Wynne agreed. "Let's continue up. "It isn't far now to the Harrowing Chamber. With any luck, Irving will be there. Alive."

‹›‹O›‹›

On the next floor up, Rhianna was surprised to see another familiar face. It was the templar who had come in on her in the bath. The same one Solona had admitted she fancied. Cullen. He was trapped behind some sort of magical barrier, and ranted angrily at them when they appeared, believing they were demons.

"The boy is exhausted," Wynne said. "And this cage . . . I've never seen anything like it."

It took a great deal of convincing for Cullen to believe they weren't demons, and afterward, his ranting became even more vehement.

"You can't save them! You don't know what they've become. They've been surrounded by demons, whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts." He held Rhianna's gaze, his eyes burning. "To ensure this horror is ended, you must kill everyone up there."

What was it he had said that first time they met, when he'd barged in on her and refused to leave when she asked?

_There is a reason they are here, under our watchful eyes. Mages are dangerous. That is something you must never forget._

This man had always hated mages. Of course he would want them dead. But the reason Rhianna agreed to enter the tower was in the hope of saving at least a few of them from the certain death that the Right of Annulment would bring.

"I'm not going to kill people who don't pose a threat," she replied. "I have no intention of murdering anyone who might be innocent."

"No! You have to end it now, before it's too late!"

There seemed little point in trying to reason with him; after the ordeal he had suffered, it was understandable Cullen would imagine the worst, and they hardly had time to spare at present. Wynne wasn't sure how to remove the magical barrier, so they left him inside, after reassuring him that they would return for him once Uldred was defeated.

"No! No, you fools! You can't do this. You can't just leave me here! We have to kill them. You have to kill all of them!"

Yes, it was best to leave him locked away, where nothing could harm him, and he wouldn't be able to do anything violent or rash, either.

Cullen's curses echoed against the stone walls as Rhianna led the way up the final set of stairs, and entered the Harrowing Chamber, with her companions close behind.

Almost as one, they stopped in their tracks at the scene that greeted them in the chamber.

In the center of the room, a dark haired mage was suspended in midair, hung as though held by invisible hands. Lightning crackled around her, and her head drooped, as though she lacked the energy to hold it up. A trio of figures surrounded her: two creatures that were clearly abominations, with blackened skin and misshapen bodies, and a man. A man Rhianna had seen before.

It was the bald mage she had seen at Ostagar. The one who suggested that mages be allowed to light the signal fire. This must be Uldred.

At the far end of the room, two mages were on their knees, their arms bound behind their backs. One of them was First Enchanter Irving, and, thank the Maker, he was most definitely alive.

The three in the middle of the room appeared to be casting a spell. Their arms were raised, and lights shimmered and danced in the air as someone spoke the words of an incantation. One of the abominations lifted a hand high, and the woman in the center of the room floated upward, until only the tips of her toes still made contact with the floor.

She raised her head and groaned, a look of determination and horror upon her face, and Rhianna fought back a gasp. This woman was familiar, as well; she was the elf who had welcomed Rhianna and Duncan to the tower all those weeks ago.

Uldred strode to the middle of the room and cupped the woman's chin in one of his hands. "Do you accept the gift that I offer?"

"No!" Her lip curled. "No, never!"

Uldred made no perceptible movement, and spoke no audible words, but the woman's body writhed, as if she were in great pain. Her back arched, and her head snapped backward, and her high-pitched cries filled the chamber.

When her body stilled, Uldred stroked her cheek.

"I ask again. This is your last chance, Neria. Your last chance to come gracefully. Don't fight me. You'll see. I will give you power unlike any you could ever imagine."

"Never!" Her eyes flashed, and she flinched away from his touch. "I will never submit. You have nothing to offer me. This power you claim isn't yours. It's just the demon that's taken you over. That's not power; it's weakness."

"Don't be a fool, girl. A mage is but the larval form of something greater; there is nothing the Circle could ever offer to equal what we have become."

"I will stand by the Circle's teachings. Blood magic, consorting with demons? This is wrong, and you know it. Or you would, if there was anything left of Uldred inside of you. True power comes from within."

He chuckled. "You don't really believe that, do you? True power comes through synthesis. Through merging with something even greater than yourself. 'True power comes from within,'" he mocked. "That is merely one of the Chantry's many lies. Do you really think the Circle will ever help you reach your true potential? Of course not. All the Circle has ever wanted for you is to hold you back. You are a powerful mage, Neria, but you could be so much more."

"There is nothing more I want than my life here has provided."

"You expect me to believe that? I know what you want. Your  _ambition_. But it will never come to pass, not if you insist on remaining weak and small. Do you truly believe the Fereldan Circle will ever make an  _elven_  mage - and a woman, at that - the first enchanter? Irving led you to believe it was possible, but you're a fool if you don't see that everything you've ever agreed to do was designed to keep you weak, and helpless, and obedient."

Now Neria was the one to laugh. "Is that what you think? You think I care about becoming first enchanter? You could be not more wrong. I've never done anything because I wanted some sort of worldly power, or authority over the Circle. Everything I've done was purely because I care about the people here. I just want them to be safe, and happy."

"Safe? And happy?" He leaned close, and looked directly in her eyes. "Do you really believe any of us have ever been safe here in this prison, or happy while the templars watched our every move?"

Neria flinched again, and turned her face away. "It doesn't matter." She shook her head, and then met his gaze once more. "It  _doesn't_  matter. Your alternative is no real alternative. Your vision of 'freedom' . . . look what  _it_ has brought. Nearly everyone dead. That's not freedom. Don't talk to me about the Chantry's lies. You have told nothing but lies yourself, and your way has resulted of the destruction of this Circle." She lifted her chin in defiance. "I will never submit."

"Very well. If you insist, we shall do this the hard way." An unpleasant smile crept across his face. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt. Very much."

"Don't you dare!" Wynne strode forward. "Get away from her, Uldred. Leave her be. It is time we put an end to this madness!"

"Ah, look what we have here." Uldred's smile widened. "Wynne. And you've brought uninvited guests." His eyes fell upon Rhianna. "I bid you welcome. Care to join in our . . . revels?"

"No," Rhianna replied. "I'm afraid your 'revels' are over."

"Indeed? You sound so very sure of yourself." He arched a brow. With a wave of his hand, Neria was released from whatever held her in the air, and she slumped awkwardly to the ground. "Of course," Uldred continued, "it is somewhat impressive that you're still alive. You must have killed my servants." He shrugged, and one corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. "Ah well. It's probably a blessing they died in the service of their betters, rather than being forced to live with the terrible responsibility of independence."

Was he serious? This was the man the mages - women like the one Rhianna had set free downstairs - had chosen to follow? It seemed impossible that Loghain would have negotiated any sort of alliance with this man. Or perhaps this flippancy was the influence of the demon, and it was as Niall feared, and there was nothing of Uldred left.

"Those people believed in you," Rhianna argued. "They fought for you, fought for their own freedom. Aren't you upset that they're dead?"

"Not particularly. Not all people will rise to the challenge of reaching their full potential. Those who do become something glorious; those who do not are best forgotten."

"You're mad," Wynne insisted. "There is nothing glorious about what you've become, Uldred."

"Ah, but Uldred is gone. I am so much more than he ever was." The mage smiled. "I will give you this gift, Wynne. Sooner or later. It would be so much easier if you just accepted it."

"Never! And your foul deeds stop right here. Right now."

"Some people can be so stubborn," he drawled. "How very inconsiderate. At least I have the first enchanter on my side." He turned toward where the other mages were bound. "Don't I, Irving?"

"Stop him." Irving's voice was hoarse and shaky. "You must stop him. He . . . is building an army. He will destroy the templars, and-"

"Oh, you are a sly little fox, aren't you Irving?" Uldred chuckled. "Telling on me like that." He turned back to Rhianna. "And here I thought he was starting to turn."

"N-never," Irving gasped.

"Oh, that's enough out of you," Uldred said cheerfully, as he turned and stepped close to Rhianna. "He'll serve me, eventually. As will you, my dear." He tilted his head to one side. "You will be magnificent. I  _felt_ you, felt your energy as you made your way up the tower. The raw potential you possess, with the strength of a demon behind it will be unstoppable. Just think what a force you will become against the darkspawn. That is your purpose, is it not? To end this Blight that plagues Ferelden? I can give you power to do just that."

"No, thank you," Rhianna replied. "What you offer isn't power. It's death. I am not interested."

"You speak as if your opinion matters. I have decided for you, my dear. You will become the force of nature I have envisioned. Fight me, if you must." He leaned close, and murmured in her ear, "It will just make my victory all the sweeter."

He moved back several steps. Again, his lips formed a smile, and he winked at Rhianna, just once. Then, with a flash of blindingly bright light, he transformed into something completely unexpected. An abomination, but one unlike any they had seen before.

The creature was taller than the ogre they had fought in the Fade, and looked almost reptilian, with pointed horns on its head, and rows of jutting scales down its spine. Its hands were huge clawed things, and vestigial wings sprouted from its elbows. It was misshapen and monstrous, and utterly terrifying.

A whisper floated through her mind.

_Accept the gift that I offer._

She blinked, and shook her head to clear it, but the voice came again.

_Power beyond imagining will be yours._

"No." She said the word aloud as she drew her sword, but her feet refused to carry her forward and attack. Her thoughts were fuzzy, and muddled.

_You will be magnificent_.

She took a halting step forward, but still couldn't bring her sword arm up.

Then, from somewhere behind her, a woman's voice chanted the words of an incantation.

As if illuminated by the sun as it came from behind a cloud, her mind cleared. Sword held high, she sprang into action.

‹›‹O›‹›

The abomination Uldred had become was huge, and monstrous, but in the end, he succumbed to swords and arrows and spells just like all the other foes they had faced.

First Enchanter Irving, once released from the ropes that bound him, looked bruised and exhausted, but swore he was mostly unharmed. Neria rushed to his side, and helped him to stand, and together they all made their way to the first floor of the tower.

In the end, a total of nine mages, one templar, and a few young apprentices, stood in the shadows of the huge double doors, and blinked in the torchlight as Greagoir finally gave them permission to exit the tower.

There had been dozens of people living here. Was it really possible the rest of them were all dead? Perhaps more had survived, hidden away behind beds or in wardrobes. Or perhaps some had escaped the tower before Greagoir bolted the doors. It was chilling to think that this was all that remained of the Fereldan Circle of Magi.

Even so, it was better than the Right of Annulment would have been.

"Irving?" Greagoir's eyes were wide. "Maker's breath, I did not expect to see you alive." He turned his eyes on the woman at Irving's side. "Nor you, Neria."

"I did not expect to be alive," Irving croaked. "But here I am. It is . . . over. Uldred is dead."

Part of that was true. Uldred was, indeed, dead. But was this really over? Would this ever be truly over? How long would it take the Circle to recover?

"Then it is finished." Greagoir closed his eyes briefly. "Maker help us." He let out a breath, and once again his gaze fell upon the first enchanter. "It is . . . good . . . to have you back."

"It's good to be back." Irving smiled. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll be at one another's throats again in no time."

"Uldred tortured these mages, Knight-Commander." Cullen stepped forward. He looked feverish; his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and his hands trembled. "He thought to break their wills and turn them into abominations. We don't know how many of them have turned. They must be killed. All of them. For the good of Ferelden."

"Don't be ridiculous," Irving exclaimed. "All the abominations were destroyed inside the tower."

Cullen turned toward Greagoir. "Of course he'll say that! He could be a blood mage now, for all we know! Or possessed by a demon. One that hides deep inside, waiting for the right moment to strike."

Rhianna crossed her arms in front of her chest. "The same could be said about any of us. Even you."

Cullen whirled to face her. "What? What are you talking about? Mages are the only ones at risk of possession."

"That's not true. It wasn't just mages who were possessed in the tower. Or are you going to tell me that the templars who attacked us did it of their own free will? Perhaps mages are easier targets, but any one of us could have a demon inside. Do you think the knight-commander should just slay us all?"

"No one is going to be slain," Greagoir said. "I accept Irving's assurance that all is well, and that we've won back the tower."

"No!" Cullen's cheeks turned dark. "Whatever she says, it's the mages who are the danger here. You cannot tell maleficarum by sight. Just one could influence the mind of a king, of a grand cleric. Any of these mages could have demons within them, lying dormant! Lying in wait!"

"That's enough!" Greagoir raised his voice. "I am the commander here, and I have made my decision." He turned to Rhianna. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, ser. You have proven yourself a friend of both the Circle and the templars. I promised you aid, and you shall have it. With the Circle restored, my duty is to watch the mages, but they are free to help you, and when the time comes for them to leave the tower, templars will accompany them. I swear it." He paused. "Now, if you'll please excuse me. I should oversee a sweep of the tower, in case there are any other survivors who need to be tended to."

"As Greagoir said, the Circle owes you a debt of gratitude." Irving gave Rhianna a tired smile. Thank you." His gaze took in all of the companions. "Thank you all. As devastating as this has been, it would have been even worse had you not arrived when you did. It's almost as though the Maker Himself sent you."

"It had nothing to do with the Maker," Rhianna replied. "It was the Blight that drove me here. To seek aid from the Circle, on behalf of the Grey Wardens."

"Ah!" A crease formed along his brow. "Of course. That's why you look so familiar. You were here when Duncan recruited Solona." He glanced again at the faces of her companions, as though expecting to see her there. "Where is she? She did join the Wardens, did she not?"

"She did, yes." Rhianna paused. "But she's no longer with us. Solona . . . well, as far as I know, Solona died at Ostagar. Fighting the darkspawn."

"Solona is . . . dead?" Irving's shoulders sagged, and he looked even more exhausted than before. "Blessed Andraste. That is . . . not the fate I would have wished for her."

"No." Rhianna blinked back sudden tears. "It's not the fate I wished for her, either. She and I . . . well, she was my friend."

"That, at least, is good to know. That she was not alone in her last weeks."

A memory swam into Rhianna's mind: Solona's face, flushed and happy, as she peeked out of Duncan's tent.

"No, she wasn't alone." Rhianna paused. "And I know this is probably the worst time to ask, but if there is any way those who remain here in the Circle can assist me in fighting the darkspawn, I would appreciate it. This is a blight, and I have a treaty that obliges you to give us aid . . ."

"Of course." Irving nodded solemnly. "Treaty or no, you have my word as First Enchanter. The Circle will join the Grey Wardens in the fight. It's the least we can do, after all you've done to help us."

"I have a request, Irving." Wynne stepped forward. "I wish to travel with Rhianna. With the Wardens, and help them in their mission."

"What?" Irving's surprise echoed Rhianna's own. "But Wynne . . . we need you here. The Circle needs you. Now more than ever."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but the Circle will do fine without me. You know that as well as I do. The Circle has you, and Neria." She glanced at Rhianna. "This woman . . . I believe she is brave and good, and capable of great things. I would like to be given leave to help her fight the darkspawn." Wynne turned to Rhianna. "If you will accept my help?"

"Of course," Rhianna replied. "We would be happy to have you join us." If nothing else, Wynne's healing spells had been incredibly useful.

Irving sighed. "You were never one to stay in the tower when there was adventure to be had elsewhere, were you, Wynne?"

"You think this is about adventure?" Wynne arched a brow. "No, I merely wish to be of service where I am most greatly needed."

"Of course, Wynne." Irving managed a tired smile. "I meant nothing by it. If this is truly what you wish to do, then I give you leave to follow the Grey Warden. And of course, you will always have a place here when you are ready to return." He turned back to Rhianna. "Now, you must forgive me for not being a proper host. There is much to do, and to be honest, I barely know where to start. But when the time comes, the Circle of Magi will stand with you and fight."

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta reader Sehnsuchttraum, as well as to all my wonderful reviewers: Yarnandtea, KatDancer, HAG1686, Irish_Changeling, and Vicky79.
> 
> Nemain belongs to Sehnsuchttraum; thank you so much for letting me borrow her for this cameo appearance.
> 
> As soon as this is posted, I'll be putting face claims and place claim photos, so have a look at those if you're interested. 
> 
> Next up: Loghain. :)


	29. Just get it done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain learns that Rhianna was at Gherlen's Pass, and meets with an Antivan Crow.

__**30 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Denerim** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Lothering had fallen.

Loghain received word of this a few days ago, but it was still difficult to wrap his mind around the reality of it. He'd marched through the town just weeks before, and now it was gone. Destroyed utterly by the darkspawn.

That shouldn't have happened. He thought he'd have more time to raise a new army and march south, long before the darkspawn made their way that far north. He'd intended to contain the horde by defending the Imperial Highway south of Lothering, but it appeared that might no longer be possible.

Lothering was at the southern edge of the Bannorn. Now nothing stood between the darkspawn and Ferelden's heartland. It was bad enough to consider the immediate destruction; the Bannorn was not as heavily populated as any of the cities on the coast, but a fair number of people did live there. More terrifying was the thought that the land might become tainted by the creatures. Tainted by the black corruption they spread in their wake. If that happened, Ferelden would have no way to provide enough food to feed her people for the foreseeable future. Blackened farmland would yield no crops, nor would it support cattle and sheep and hogs.

Just how long did it take soil to recover from the taint? Years? Decades? More than an age? Loghain had no idea.

This was on the verge of becoming a disaster beyond any he could have imagined.

Now, he sat at his desk in the library of the Gwaren estate, and stared at the numbers he had scratched on a piece of parchment. Counts of Fereldan soldiers and potential volunteers, by region, based on the census he did at Cailan's request just over a year ago.

There weren't nearly enough, and not all of them would be able or willing to join the fight against the darkspawn. At this time, the only forces Loghain could count on were the regular armies from Gwaren, Amaranthine, and Lothering, as well as Bann Nicola's remaining soldiers. This was not an unsizeable army, and might have been sufficient if darkspawn were the only threat, and they could find a good location from which to stage their defense. Ostagar had been perfect, but that was no longer an option.

Damn.

Loghain pounded the desk with a clenched fist. It had been a stupid, stupid mistake to go along with Cailan's foolishness, and commit all their resources to that one battle. They could have stayed in Ostagar indefinitely, and whittled away at the horde while keeping it contained in the Wilds. Getting through the winter would have been a challenge, but even so, it would have been a much better situation than what they now faced.

He glanced at the map that hung on the wall nearby. Perhaps he would take Ferelden's combined forces and muster at Winter's Breath, or even South Reach. Strategically, neither was as ideal a location as Ostagar, but he needed a place from which to launch attacks, and keep the darkspawn at bay if they continued to move north.

If they were lucky, any northward push might not happen yet; most recently, there had been rumors of darkspawn raiding parties near West Hills.

Maker help him, but he hoped they turned their eyes south again. People would die, regardless, but better to lose the Hinterlands or the Southron Hills, rather than the arable land of the Bannorn.

His eyes passed over the parchment yet again. Just how many soldiers would he have in his command?

Dragon's Peak and South Reach would likely respond to a summons to muster, as would Oswin and River Dane. None of them had a particularly large force however, and Oswin had taken losses at Ostagar.

Redcliffe was out of the picture for the time being, and the bulk of the Highever and Denerim regular armies were lost at Ostagar. The southern bannrics would likely fight the darkspawn sooner rather than later, in their own backyards, whether they wanted to or not.

That left the Bannorn.

The Bannorn had soldiers, but few of the banns had established any regular training regime for their volunteers. Those men, conscripted out of necessity, wouldn't be nearly as effective as their counterparts from the Coastlands and the south.

Of course, this might prove to be a blessing. There was no guarantee that any of those soldiers would fight under Loghain's banner. The grumbling of the banns grew ever louder, led by that Maker-damned Bronach. None of them had yet committed their soldiers to the cause, and a few had threatened to refuse entirely if Loghain did not step down from the regency. They threatened civil war, and at the worst possible time. Damned fools, one and all.

Why did they not understand that Loghain could not step down? This was the one thing he absolutely could not do, especially while they fomented trouble. No one knew better than Loghain how to defend Ferelden from the threats she now faced. No one had sacrificed more than he had, or knew the history as intimately. No one else understood just what was at stake. Loghain would not back down. He could not back down. Ferelden must be protected at all costs, against all foes.

Perhaps now that Lothering had fallen, they would see reason. Be made to understand that no one bann could stand on his own; they needed to unite in order to have any hope of fighting off the various threats Ferelden now faced.

He let out a slow, steady breath. No matter how he looked at it, he came to the same conclusion: he needed more soldiers, soldiers who just weren't there. And even if he had the soldiers he needed, there would still be the problem of how to feed and provision them; the royal coffers were disturbingly empty. More than ever, Ferelden needed to unite under a single banner. Work together, rather than apart. But how could he make that happen, when all around him, people seemed determined to argue?

He rested his elbows on the desk, and rubbed at his temples.

There was a way to make this work. There had to be a way. Loghain just needed to find it.

Colin appeared in the doorway of the library. "Soldiers are here, Your Grace, from Gherlen's Pass."

Loghain sat up. Gherlen's Pass? That was unexpected. Just a few days ago, a rider had arrived to let him know that the Orlesian Wardens had come and been turned away. He wouldn't have thought there would be news so soon.

Unless the Wardens and chevaliers taken more drastic steps to try and enter the country.

"Show them in."

Two of his Gwaren soldiers strode into the room: Dashiell, his personal guard from Ostagar, and Georgina, who was second in command at Gherlen's Pass. Her presence here didn't bode well.

"Good evening, Your Grace," Georgina said. "We have news from Gherlen's Pass. Something we thought you would want to know right away."

"Have the Orlesians made another attempt to enter Ferelden?"

"No ser," she replied. "Nothing like that. It's something else. It's about the Grey Wardens. The woman you asked us to be on the lookout for."

"Rhianna Cousland?"

"Yes."

They had news about Rhianna? He sat up straighter.

"Tell me."

"A week ago, she attempted to cross the border into Orlais."

That didn't sound right. "She attempted to cross the border? With the other Wardens?" Why in the world would Rhianna wish to leave the country?

"Sort of. She did try to get in Orlais, but not with the other Wardens. She wasn't traveling with anyone who matched the descriptions you gave us. Instead, she was with an Orlesian woman and a Qunari mercenary, and she was in disguise, dressed as a Chantry sister. They claimed they were trying to get home to Orlais. Only it wasn't the Warden who did the talking. The other woman is the one who spoke with our soldiers, an Orlesian noblewoman to judge by her clothing and her accent. In fact, the Warden spoke nothing but Orlesian, so the guards at the border didn't even realize it was her."

What? Rhianna tried to cross the border dressed as an Orlesian Chantry sister? That sounded ridiculous, although she did speak the language well enough to pull off a stunt like that.

"She might have gotten away," Georgina added, "if Dashiell hadn't ridden by soon after she'd been turned back at the border."

"That's true," Dashiell replied. "Even with the Chantry robes, I realized right away she was the woman who'd come to visit you twice at Ostagar."

"Twice? That's not right. Rhianna Cousland only visited me once."

"Oh, well, I don't think you knew about the second time, Your Grace. It was that last night, the night before the battle? She came by asking to see you when you were out in the camp. I asked if she wanted to leave a message, but she declined, and I guess I forgot to mention it."

Rhianna had tried to see him the night before the battle?

"In any case, ser," Dashiell continued, "it was definitely her. I stopped her, and for a short while she tried to keep up the pretense, but she figured out right away I wasn't going to be fooled by any story."

"I trust you took her into custody."

"Yes, ser. She didn't give me any trouble. Came along peacefully, once I promised to let the other two go. I didn't figure you'd have any use for them, since it was obvious they weren't the other Wardens you're after." He paused. "I took her to Fort Gherlen, with the intention of bringing her here to the city, as you'd requested."

The guard wrinkled his nose; there was something more to this story.

"And? Where is she?"

"She . . ." Georgina began. "Well . . . she escaped, ser. From the fort."

Maker's balls. "How?"

As soon as the question left his lips, though, Loghain knew the answer. He knew exactly how Rhianna must have escaped. She had a good memory, and no doubt had never forgotten the story he'd told her years ago, about how the Night Elves had liberated the fort during the Occupation.

Sure enough, the commander confirmed this: "She went over the side, Your Grace. She waited until after dark, and then picked the lock on her door, and used rope to climb down the walls, and into the gorge below. No one would have imagined she might try such a thing – frankly, it was suicidal - but that's what she did."

Just like in the story.

The hairs bristled on the back of his neck, and he had trouble taking in a breath. "You're sure she made it all the way down safely? She didn't . . . fall?"

"No, ser. She didn't fall. Well, at least not so far that it stopped her getting away. They discovered she was gone before she was all the way down the wall, and tried to haul her up with the rope. I think she might have slid part way down. There was blood on the rope, and a few bloodstains in the dirt below, but no sign of her. And all the dogs we sent came back empty handed as well. There was no way to pursue her through the mountains once she'd gotten enough of a headstart, and the dogs seemed not to know which way she went."

Blood on the rope? His stomach lurched. "No, the dogs wouldn't have brought her back." She'd have charmed them into letting her go with no difficulty at all. "And I know which way she went. She headed south, along the riverbed to Sulcher's Pass. There's one sheer cliff she'd have needed to climb down, but she would have known to bring rope." Assuming she wasn't so badly injured that she wasn't able to make it down the cliff. That was a desolate part of the Frostbacks; if she were injured, out in the wilderness . . .

He pushed those thoughts away. "You said she came without a struggle?"

"Yes, ser," Dashiell nodded.

"Then," he mused aloud, "why in the world would she risk her life trying to escape?"

Well, perhaps that wasn't hard to guess. Rhianna hated being locked up. Had hated it since she was eight years old.

"I'm not sure, ser," Dashiell replied. "I mean, it's not like we mistreated her. We gave her a nice little room in one of the towers, and we fed her, and, well, she seemed all right with things." He paused. "She's a nice lady. She was . . . polite, and rather pleasant."

"Yes. She would be." Especially to a guard she'd seen before, one who was only following orders.

"And," Dashiell continued, "she was adamant that there not be any fighting. She didn't want anyone to get hurt. She also made it clear she was more than willing to talk to you." He paused. "Back at Ostagar, it seemed as though the two of you were . . . friends, yes?"

"Y-yes." The question took him by surprise. "Yes. We were friends." He paused. "I'm not sure how much that matters now."

"Oh." Dashiell frowned. "I see."

No, he didn't. The man had absolutely no way of knowing just how complicated this was, but Loghain certainly wasn't about go into any of that just now.

"Is there anything else?"

"There is one other thing that might interest you," Georgina began. "As the Warden made her back down the mountain, some of the soldiers asked her to say a blessing for them. She was wearing Chantry robes, after all."

"Did she agree?"

"Yes. She said a prayer in Orlesian, and the other woman translated it for the soldiers." She paused. "They seemed to appreciate it a lot, to be honest. Tried to give her money, but she wouldn't take it. And she chose a lovely verse. That bit about being unshaken by the darkness: 'Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.'"

Anger bubbled up inside of him. Lovely verse or not, Rhianna was no Chantry sister, and had no business running around Ferelden giving blessings to his soldiers or anyone else. And for someone who claimed to be willing to talk, she was doing an excellent job of avoiding every possible opportunity. This was twice now that she'd evaded his guards.

"You said something about a Qunari?" Loghain didn't need to ask about the Orlesian woman; earlier in the week, Bann Nicola had stopped by to give him what information she had been able to gather. The woman's name was Leliana, and she wasn't even an actual Chantry sister. She'd pretended to be a lay sister in Lothering for a few years, but before that, spent some time in Denerim, after coming to Ferelden from Orlais. She'd stirred up a great deal of trouble in the city. There were rumors that she had something to do with that business with Bann Perrin and the guard captain back when Loghain was at sea. Her name had come up in connection to the death of Harwen Raleigh, as well. All signs pointed to the woman being a bard. From Orlais.

Nicola had not learned quite as much about Rhianna's other companion, the apostate. This woman had come out of the Korcari Wilds, and there was strange talk about her being  _the_  Witch of the Wilds, but that seemed ridiculous. She was basically an unknown quantity, but not a particularly worrisome one.

The presence of a Qunari, however, was news to him.

"Yes, ser. It's likely he's the same man who was incarcerated in Lothering a while back. He was arrested after murdering an entire family of people near Lake Calenhad." Yes, Loghain remembered seeing the man caged up on the edge of town. "The Warden must have convinced the Revered Mother to release him into her custody." Georgina paused. "Or perhaps she just picked the lock on his cage."

An Orlesian bard, an apostate from the Wilds, and a homicidal Qunari? This was the company Rhianna had chosen to keep? It did nothing to set Loghain's mind at ease. And of course, Maric's bastard was one of her companions, as well. The only one that didn't seem to pose some sort of imminent threat was the pickpocket. It's a sad day when the thief is the most reputable of your friends.

"And you saw no sign of the other Wardens?"

"No," Dashiell replied. "Rhianna . . . I mean, the Warden told me they'd split up, and not told one another where they were headed. But she thought he was on his way to Redcliffe to ask Arl Guerrin for assistance."

That, at least, would be a wild goose chase, were it true.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him. None of this was good news, and, considering the state of things elsewhere in Ferelden, it was the last thing he needed. Rhianna masquerading as a Chantry sister, offering blessings and trying to get into Orlais? Something would have to be done. But what?

"Is there anything else?"

Both of the soldiers shook their heads.

"Very well. Thank you for the report. Go to Fort Drakon; the quartermaster will feed you and give you beds for the night, and make certain your horses are tended before you leave for the pass in the morning."

"Thank you, ser."

When they were gone, Loghain got up and began to pace the floor.

What in the world was Rhianna playing at? Had she really wanted to travel to Orlais?

Most likely, yes. She was a Grey Warden now, and it was no secret that a large number of Wardens had been on their way from Orlais. It would make sense for her to try and make contact with them, although she had to know they would not be welcome here. Neither the Wardens, nor the four legions of chevaliers who accompanied them.

And impersonating a Chantry sister? It was ridiculous, and infuriating . . .

Even so, a faint smile formed on his lips at the thought of Rhianna dressed in Chantry robes, pretending to be from Orlais. So out of character for her, and yet as a disguise, it was brilliant. So brilliant, she'd nearly succeeding in fooling all of his guards.

The smile faded to remember that she had succeeded in escaping custody. Again.

Why hadn't she come to Denerim? He'd made it clear he just wanted to speak with her. She'd been polite to the guards, cooperative, both times. Except for the part where she had escaped instead. She'd risked her life to scale the wall of the fort rather than allow herself to be brought to Denerim. Was she that unwilling to even sit down with Loghain and talk? Or was it just that she chafed at the idea of being in anyone's custody. She did hate being locked up, and for good reason. He knew that. But still. This was ridiculous.

How in the world had things gone so desperately wrong between them?

He ran a hand through his hair. That was a stupid question. Loghain knew exactly how, and when. He could pinpoint it to the very day. And it was his own damned fault. His own fault for not speaking with Bryce sooner. For not fighting harder. For just . . . giving up. Giving up on a woman he loved as much as he had ever loved another person. And now they'd come to this. She would rather risk her life escaping from prison before coming to the city to speak with him.

Perhaps it was better that they hadn't married. Perhaps there had never been any chance for them in the first place. If she were capable of this sort of behavior – traveling with bards and murderers – it was possible he'd never really known her at all.

No. That wasn't right. He  _had_  known Rhianna Cousland. As well as he'd ever known anyone. It was unthinkable that Rhianna he'd known would ever deliberately betray Ferelden. So perhaps Howe was right, and somewhere along the line she'd changed.

That seemed to be the only explanation for these companions of hers. A Qunari warrior who had murdered several innocent people. An apostate. An Orlesian bard, and the man with the single best claim to the throne in all of Ferelden.

In some ways, that last was the most troubling: a son of Maric's, just come of age. If the lad's existence became common knowledge, there were some in the Landsmeet who would consider him a contender for the throne. Most likely, Eamon had spent years filling this Alistair's head with all manner of rubbish about his Theirin blood. The boy likely thought he had some Maker-given right to the throne, whether or not he had any aptitude for leadership.

Loghain had seen Alistair at Ostagar. He did favor his father; they shared a similar physical build and facial features – a strong jaw and straight nose. He had the look of a king about him, and would have little trouble rallying at least some of the nobles to support him, if that's what he chose to do. Especially with Rhianna Cousland at his side.

Ah. Perhaps that was how the pieces fit together. If Rhianna married this bastard of Maric's, together they would have a nearly unshakable claim to the throne. Rhianna had never expressed an interest in being queen, but that might have changed in the past year, once being Teyrna of Gwaren was no longer an option. And they were both Grey Wardens, and potentially puppets of the Orlesian empress. If Empress Celene knew of Alistair's parentage – likely, since the woman had an excellent network of spies – she could have sent one of her bards to assist Rhianna and Alistair in taking the throne.

Speculation, perhaps, but it did seem to add up to one tidy, but ugly, sum: that Rhianna Cousland was working with the Orlesians.

Had Howe been telling the truth? Did Rhianna intend to betray Ferelden?

Not long ago, he would never have believed such a thing. Rhianna loved Ferelden, possibly as much as Loghain himself did. At least she had, at one time. What had happened to her, during the past year, to change that? For her to be willing to sell out her homeland like this?

His hands clenched into fists, and something twisted in his gut.

He had loved her. No, that's not right. It was not in the past tense. He still loved her, and no matter what had happened over the past year, he would always have half a lifetime of good memories. Time they had spent together, conversations they'd had. He still had every single letter she'd written while he searched for Maric. They were tucked into his copy of the Chant of Light, along with the portraits she had drawn for him. For years, the memory of her voice, her smile, her laughter, had been the things that most sustained him. He had surrendered himself to her in so many ways. And now, not only was she gone, but he had to face the possibility that he'd never truly known her at all.

Maker damn it all to the Void.

Had she become a pawn of the Orlesians? Or, worse yet, no longer a pawn, but an active player? She told him she'd been conscripted into the Grey Wardens, and he believed that was true. But perhaps, somewhere along the way, she had decided to join with them. And now planned to take the throne from Anora for herself.

No.

No. This was all just speculation, and no doubt there were innocent explanations for all of it. It hadn't been her choice to join an organization with ties to Orlais; Duncan had dragged her from her home in the middle of the night, against her will. The darkspawn were still a threat, and the Grey Wardens were sworn to fight them. Perhaps that's all she was doing. She could have gone to the border to contact the other Wardens in the hope they would help her fight the darkspawn. And she might not know she traveled with a murderer and a bard.

_Please, Andraste. Let this all be a misunderstanding. Please. I'll give anything, sacrifice anything, for this to be a misunderstanding._

Surely, Rhianna Cousland did not truly intend to betray Ferelden.

He stopped pacing, and stared out into the garden.

Unless, she did.

He forced his hands to relax; again, they'd clenched themselves into fists.

Either way, something must be done about this, before she caused any more trouble. Loghain didn't have the luxury of being incautious.

"Your Grace?" Colin appeared in the doorway once again. "Arl Rendon Howe is here to see you."

Loghain bit back a groan. Howe? Maker damn him. Howe had been a daily visitor since his arrival in Denerim, and Loghain had grown weary of the man's sneering voice and constant chatter. Even so, he needed him. He needed Howe's support in the Landsmeet, and his troops. And from time to time, he had intelligence that was useful.

"Send him in."

Howe entered, bowing his head in an exaggerated gesture that had become familiar to Loghain over the past several days. Had he always been like this, so obsequious, and Loghain just hadn't noticed? Or had something changed? Howe'd always had a sharp tongue, but there was something different about him lately, something feverish and furtive.

Loghain waved him into the room.

"I bring word, sire." A slight smile played at the corners of Howe's mouth. "Demands from the Bannorn that you step down from the regency have increased of late. And I have heard that the banns are gathering their forces. It appears, it will be civil war after all, despite the darkspawn." He paused. "Pity." Howe's voice seemed to drip with false regret. Was it possible Howe wanted a civil war? What could he hope to gain from that, especially now? Or was he merely so unpleasant that he enjoyed the suffering of others?

Not for the first time, Loghain regretted the necessity of this alliance. Regretted it deeply. The more time he spent with the man, the more he doubted the accusations against Bryce Cousland. Yes, it was clear that certain parts of the story were true, but Loghain now feared that Howe had fabricated others. Loghain should have taken Anora's advice, and had him strung up in the courtyard of Fort Drakon.

Unfortunately, it was too late for that now, and second guessing what had happened in Highever wouldn't bring the Couslands back from the dead.

"Yes." Loghain struggled to keep the annoyance from his voice. "I am well aware of the various issues in the Bannorn."

"Ah, well perhaps this will be news to you. It appears there are some Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar. How, I don't know, but it seems certain they will find some way to act against you."

"Yes, I am aware of that, as well. I've just had a report that Rhianna Cousland was seen at Gherlen's Pass."

Howe blinked. "The Cousland girl? Ah. I . . . was not aware she had . . . survived." That sounded like a lie, and a rather blatant one at that.

"She did. And I hope to sit down and talk with her as soon as possible."

Howe's lip curled. "I can't imagine what good that would do, sire. I suppose there is some small chance she wasn't complicit in the king's death, but it's obvious that now, the Grey Wardens have no intention of cooperating. I'm sure she will only contribute to whatever harm they are trying to. Like crossing the border with chevaliers, for example." He paused. "To be honest, I'm not surprised she's one of them now. She always had a nasty, violent streak, even as a child."

Loghain arched a brow. No doubt, he meant the two times Rhianna had broken Thomas Howe's nose. Rendon always seemed to forget that both times, Thomas had struck first. There hardly seemed any point in arguing about it now, though.

On Funalis, after Rhianna hit Thomas, she'd been concerned it hadn't been the right thing to do.

_I don't want to make trouble with Arl Howe. He and Father have been friends for years and years . . ._

"Yes," Loghain replied. "I remember that you were never fond of Rhianna Cousland."

"She was out of control as a child," Howe replied, "and only became more violent as she got older. I have no doubt she will continue to leave as much destruction as possible in her wake, if no one stops her." He lifted a brow. "Better to eliminate the threat she poses – Rhianna, along with the other Grey Wardens - as soon as possible."

"Eliminate the threat?"

"Yes." He paused. "With your leave, I have arranged for a . . . solution."

Howe crossed to the door and gestured to someone standing in the hallway.

The man who swaggered into the room was short of stature, but carried himself with a great deal of confidence. He wore leather armor, and a pair of daggers strapped to his back. His blonde hair, braided and pulled back at the temples, hung to his shoulders, and a gently curved tattoo snaked down the left side of his face. Most notably, he was not human, but an elf.

He stopped midway across the room, and gave a shallow bow. "The Antivan Crows send their regards." His accent was musical; he was most assuredly from Antiva.

"An assassin?" Loghain glanced at Howe. This was a drastic measure, and no doubt Howe's motivations were anything but pure. Still, it might not be a bad idea to deal with this bastard of Maric's before the rest of the nobles even learned of his existence. Loghain's stomach turned uncomfortably at the thought of just killing the lad outright. Then again, Maric had shown no interest in the boy. If he'd cared, he would have sent his bastard somewhere other than Redcliffe, to be raised by the brother of his dead wife.

Did Howe even know about Alistair? Or did he merely want Rhianna dead?

"Against the Grey Wardens we will need the very best, sire," Howe replied. "What with the troubles in the Bannorn, Orlesians at the border, and darkspawn in the south, it seemed to me that this would be the most expedient way to remove one of the . . . thorns in your side."

This was about Rhianna. Howe wanted her dead.

At the same time, the man did have a point. Loghain had more than enough to worry about without the damned Wardens getting underfoot, as Rhianna had done at Gherlen's Pass. And ridding the world of an Orlesian bard and a murderous Qunari could only be a good thing.

Loghain crossed the room and poured himself a glass of wine. He drank deeply, and stared into the fire. The flames danced and writhed before his eyes; it soothed his nerves, somehow. He took another drink.

An assassin. Until recently, he had never hired a killer to do a job for him; he had always faced his enemies head on. First there was the apostate he'd sent to Redcliffe. Now this? It felt wrong. Cowardly and deceitful. However, this situation was somewhat unprecedented.

He drank once more from the goblet.

"Just . . . get it done." He turned, and caught the elf's gaze. "Not the girl, though. Do whatever you like with the others, but I want Rhianna Cousland brought here to me. Alive, and unharmed."

The assassin inclined his head in acknowledgement of the request. "As you wish, sire."

"But, Your Grace." Howe's voice was smooth, but underneath was a note of panic. "Are you certain that's wise? Not only does the Cousland girl have ties with Orlais, but she has an excellent claim to the throne. If she were to put herself forward as an alternative to your daughter, it's likely the Landsmeet would be happy to support-"

"Enough!"

That was the feeblest, most transparent argument imaginable. Howe had come here today knowing full well Rhianna was alive, and it was obvious he wanted her dead for his own reasons. For him to bring Anora into this was infuriating.

Again, Loghain caught and held the assassin's gaze. "I have told you what I require. Kill anyone else you want, but bring Rhianna to me, here in Denerim, completely unharmed. I wish to speak with her, face to face. Last I heard, she was in the Frostback Mountains, between Fort Gherlen and Sulcher's Pass. If you don't hear any other word of her, search there."

After all they had been through together, he owed Rhianna at least that much. To hear from her own lips what had happened, and what it was she was trying to do. To ask her, plainly, if she intended to betray Ferelden. If the Grey Wardens meant for Cailan to die.

If he determined that she had, indeed, done things that were unforgivable, she would be executed, like any other traitor to the crown. But Loghain could not take the chance that she was blameless, and had been an unwilling, or unwitting pawn. He needed to know the truth, one way or the other, before he did something that could not be undone.

"I understand." Again, the elf bowed, and then strode from the room.

Loghain turned away, and looked back into the flames. He had nothing more to say to Howe; with any luck, the man would take the hint, and leave.

Thankfully, Howe did just that.

Loghain took another swallow of wine. Perhaps this Crow would succeed where Loghain's own guards had failed. If the man brought Rhianna here, gave Loghain the chance to see her and talk to her, it would be well worth whatever coin he required. No doubt Rhianna would be angry, but he would have to find a way to make her understand. She'd given him no choice.

He returned to his desk, and to the parchment with numbers scrawled upon it.

They looked no better now than they had earlier in the day. More soldiers were needed if they were to have any hope of pulling through this crisis. Many, many more. And the money to support them.

Loghain had no idea where he was going to find any of it.

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Amanda Kitswell, and to all my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, Yarnandtea, Wendolen, and Irish_Changeling.


	30. We always have a choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna hears news of troubling events in the south of Ferelden.

__**3 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Lake Calenhad** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

The day had dawned beautiful and clear. There was a slight chill in the air, but it only served to make Lake Calenhad and the hills that surrounded it brighter and even more vibrant with color than usual. Rhianna and her companions had hired a small boat at the Lake Calenhad docks, and now sailed south on the lake towards Redcliffe. This was their second day on the water, and Rhianna expected that they'd arrive in Redcliffe not much later than noon.

The water was calm and flat, which was also a good description of the general mood of Rhianna's fellow travelers. The sunny day seemed to have cheered theme a bit, but the past few days had been difficult, from a combination of exhaustion, unpleasant news, and the lingering effects of the dreams they had experienced in the Fade. Alistair in particular seemed to have fallen into another depression, although it was difficult to say if it was because of the Fade dream, his lingering grief over Duncan's death, or new worries about the health of Eamon Guerrin.

After leaving the Circle Tower, they'd taken rooms for the night at the Spoiled Princess. Rhianna decided they all deserved a good night's rest in actual beds, their bellies full of warm food and as much as they cared to drink. In the morning, she'd intended to head northwest, around the top of the lake and up into the Frostback Mountains, to Orzammar. Better that than heading south to look for the Dalish, when winter was so close at hand.

Within minutes of their arrival at the inn, however, their plans changed.

"Welcome back to the Spoiled Princess!" The innkeeper was happy to see them, and even happier when Rhianna asked to rent three rooms for the night, as well as food all the way around. As had become a habit, she and Alistair sat at the bar and wheedled all the local news and gossip out of the tavern keep while they waited for their food.

"I must say," the innkeeper began, "I was surprised to hear that you and your friends managed to convince that fellow to ferry you over to the Circle Tower."

"It was a bit tricky to get him to agree," Rhianna replied. "But it turns out he is fond of cookies."

"Is that so?" The man chuckled, but then his eyes narrowed. "I hope nothing too . . . dangerous is going on over there? It's a bit nerve-wracking, you know. Living in the shadow of that tower. Knowing there's mages inside, getting up to Maker knows what."

"And just when have mages given you any reason to distrust us?" Wynne had crossed the room, and settled herself on a barstool nearby.

"Oh, begging your pardon, my lady." He glanced at her robes. "It's just that . . . well, we hear stories. And when the templars close down the tower, who knows what sorts of things might be happening, right?"

"Everything is fine at the Circle now," Rhianna said. "They had some trouble, but it's been taken care of. You've no cause for concern, I promise. What about the rest of Ferelden? Have you had any news from the south?"

"As a matter of fact, I have. Just yesterday, two knights rode through here, and stopped for a meal. Knights from Redcliffe."

This got Alistair's attention. "Redcliffe? What were they doing here?"

He leaned closer. "According to them, Arl Eamon's fallen ill."

"Arl Eamon is ill?" A deep crease formed across Alistair's brow. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nobody knows. The sickness came on real quick. Too quick for any normal illness, and he just won't wake up. Like maybe he was poisoned. The healers can't figure it out, so his wife sent her knights out all over Ferelden, looking for a cure."

"What sort of cure?" Rhianna asked.

"That's the best part, isn't it? They've been sent to find the sacred urn filled with Andraste's ashes." He leaned back and put a hand on his hip. "Can you believe it? The ashes of the Beloved Prophet? Legend says they're able to cure any malady, but it sounds a bit far-fetched to me. If something like that existed, seems like someone would have found it years ago. Andraste's been dead for ages."

"Poisoned." Alistair frowned. "Why would anyone want to poison Arl Eamon? He's a good man."

"Well, "the innkeeper leaned close and lowered his voice, "One of the knights told me he thinks it was the arlessa. That she and his brother - the Bann of Rainesfere - poisoned the arl, so the two of them could marry."

"What?" Rhianna couldn't stop herself from laughing, which earned a deep frown from the innkeeper. She couldn't quite force the smile from her lips, though. "I'm sorry, but that's ridiculous. Teagan Guerrin could not have had any part in poisoning his own brother."

"I'm just repeating what they told me," the innkeeper said. "Maker's honest truth! Although . . . it doesn't make sense to me why she'd send out her knights looking for a cure if she was trying to kill him and marry the brother. I mean, wouldn't she just let him die?" He shrugged. "Then again, half the things these nobles do don't make much sense to me. Just like what happened at Highever. The whole family, murdered in their sleep. What call would anyone have to do that?"

Rhianna's smile slipped away, but the innkeeper didn't seem to notice. "They did bring more bad news, though," he continued. "From Lothering." Rhianna and Alistair shared a glance. "The darkspawn attacked the town, about a week ago. Word has it they swarmed the entire area, making off with prisoners and burning down the buildings. Everything was destroyed, and it sounds like there were a lot of people who hadn't managed to flee before it was too late. I heard some Chanters were going to head down south, maybe try to find survivors. I'm not holding out hope, myself."

Lothering was gone? Rhianna felt sick to her stomach. This shouldn't come as a surprise; shey'd known to expect this. But to hear that it had actually happened was . . . horrible. That pretty little town, with its windmill and it's softly lit Chantry, and the bridge that spanned the creek. All gone, blackened and dead, along with all the people who lived there.

Was there any end to the awfulness of this world? Perhaps she should have stayed in the Fade. Stayed in a world where the darkspawn had been defeated. With a man who at least pretended to love her. In a place she wouldn't have to hear about horror after horror - all the horrors in the world – things she couldn't control and didn't know how to stop.

When the innkeeper moved off to take their order back to the kitchen, Alistair turned to Rhianna. "I really think we should go to Redcliffe. Find out what's happening there, and if there's anything we can do to help. If Arl Eamon is ill enough that Isolde would send knights looking for some mystical cure? I . . . well, I just think we need to find out what's happening."

"I agree."

Alistair lifted a brow, as though he'd expected Rhianna to argue.

"I'd like to know what's going on in Redcliffe," she continued. "Something he said – about Eamon being in a sleep from which he cannot wake – doesn't that sound a bit familiar?"

Alistair's scowl deepened. "A demon? You think that's what's happened?"

"I don't have any idea what happened. Which is why we should go find out for ourselves. We can hire a boat tomorrow, and sail there in a day and a half."

"All right. Yes." Alistair's face lit up. "Yes. I like the sound of that."

"Did I hear you say you intend to hire a boat and sail south?" Nemain had come to stand beside Alistair. "I thought you planned to visit the dwarven city. What is it called again?"

Rhianna strained to look up into the woman's face. "Orzammar, and that was the plan, but we've just learned that the Arl of Redcliffe is ill, and I think it would prudent for us to go down and see what's happening there."

"Of course." Nemain shrugged. "That is a pity. I wouldn't have minded traveling with you a while longer, but I do not have any reason to go south."

"Where are you from, Nemain?" Wynne sipped at her wine as she regarded the foreign woman through narrowed eyes. "I don't remember ever seeing you in the Circle Tower before. How was it you ended up in that part of the Fade?"

"I am still not entirely sure how I ended up there. I was . . . traveling. I am trying to find someone. Someone I knew a long time ago." She paused. "Someone . . . dear to me. I had thought perhaps he would be found in Kinloch Hold, but obviously he was not there. This is why I think I will continue on to Orzammar as planned. I have a sense that he is no longer near this place, and that I should search to the north."

She hadn't answered the first part of Wynne's question, but the mage seemed not to notice. "This person you search for . . . he must be a mage if you sought him in the tower. Who is he? No doubt, I know him if he's Fereldan."

"A mage? Yes. I suppose it is likely he is a user of magic. But I have the feeling he has not been near this place for . . . quite some time." She made a slight bow. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I had hoped to speak with Morrigan."

Most likely Nemain was less interested in Morrigan, and more interested in avoiding additional questions. She was looking for a mage? Someone from the Circle who was no longer there? Hopefully whoever it was hadn't died in the recent troubles. It was a pity the woman wasn't coming with them; she'd been a strong, comforting presence in the Circle Tower. For those few hours, Rhianna had almost felt like the burden she carried was lighter.

Ah well. Redcliffe called.

To be honest, the thought of Eamon being ill was no tragedy; Rhianna hadn't forgotten the part he'd played in the fiasco that happened the previous year. But he did have some political power, and Alistair was convinced the arl would ally himself with the Grey Wardens. Right now, allies were in short supply.

Orzammar would have to wait.

‹›‹O›‹›

As the evening wore on, any pretense of cheerfulness vanished. Alistair nursed a pint of ale in the corner. Nemain and Morrigan huddled together at a table across the room from everyone else. Wynne, Leliana and Sten sat together and made a half-hearted attempt at conversation. Rhianna pulled a bench near the fire, so she could warm her feet while Dane stretched out below. Daveth joined her, but they didn't talk. They merely sat, side by side, in a comfortable silence, and watched the flames dance before them.

One by one, the others gave up and went to their beds, until only Rhianna and Daveth remained.

Rhianna glanced at him; his mouth was set in a slight frown, and his eyes looked dark and heavy. What was he thinking? Rhianna's own thoughts kept returning to the vision she'd had. Her encounter with 'Loghain.' Probably Daveth was remembering his mother and sister in the Fade.

Where were they now in the real world? Were they even still alive? Daveth hadn't said a single word about his family while they'd traveled together, but now Rhianna wished she'd thought to ask sooner.

"May I ask you something?" she said.

He turned to face her. "Of course you can. You don't need to ask permission."

"You grew up near the Korcari Wilds, yes?"

"That's right."

"Your mother and your sister. Do they still live there?"

"No, thankfully. They live in Ostwick."

"Oh. Just like in the dream?"

"Yeah."

"In the dream, you said something about having left Ferelden five years ago? Is that what really happened? Unless you'd rather not talk about it."

Daveth studied her face, and then a weak smile turned up one corner of his mouth. "Nah, I don't mind talking about it. With you, anyway. And yes, they left Ferelden five years ago."

"What about your father? Didn't he go with them?"

"No." Any hint of a smile left Daveth's face. "My dad . . . well, I have no idea where he is. Probably still living in the south. Or maybe he's dead. Can't say I'd be disappointed to learn that he was torn apart by darkspawn."

Oh.

"That sounds harsh, doesn't it," Daveth added, when he noticed the look on Rhianna's face. "But my dad . . . he's . . . well, he's a nasty bugger. Liked to drink too much, and beat up on my mum. When I got big enough that I got in my head to try and stop him, he beat up on me instead. Sometimes he did it even when he wasn't drunk. I started to worry he was going to start in on Jessa, as well." Daveth shrugged. "So, as soon as I was old enough, I left. Made my way to the city, and saved every coin I could get my hands on. It took me almost a year, but I finally scraped together enough to pay for passage to the Free Marches, for my mum and Jessa. Mum's sister lives in Ostwick, so that was a good place for them to go."

"So they were able to leave him?"

"Yeah."

Rhianna let out a slow breath. "Good." In Daveth's dream, he'd been there with them. Helping with chores, of all things. "Why didn't you go with them?"

He scoffed. "How's a guy like me supposed to make a living in a nice little country village? All I know is picking pockets, and I didn't want to make trouble for them. They deserve to be able to start a new life without me dragging them down. Besides, I had a reasonably good thing going on in Denerim, so I was able to send them enough money that mum wouldn't have to manage all on her own." He let out a breath. "In a way, it was good to see them, even for a short time. Except now I can't stop thinking about them, and missing them even more than I did before. Maybe one of these days I'll figure out a way to make an honest living, and go out to join them. Maybe there are other Grey Wardens in Ostwick?" He shrugged, as though he'd come to the end of his willingness to talk about himself. "So. What did you see in the Fade? I got the feeling, whatever it was, it was rough on you, too."

She hesitated. Could she tell the truth? None of her companions knew about her history with Loghain, the man so many of them seemed determined to hate. She hadn't intended to tell any of them; the mere thought of Alistair's disdain alone made her feel hollow and exhausted. But no one else was around. Just Daveth.

"I was in Denerim. The Blight was over; we'd won the battle at Ostagar. And I was engaged to be married, to the man I've been in love with for most of my life."

"Oh. Is it the same fellow the demon was talking about? Not the sloth demon, but the one who'd magicked that templar."

"Yes. The same fellow. I don't know how they knew - the demons. I guess they see into our hearts, or minds, or something?"

"Something." He paused. "Engaged to be married? That sounds like something you wouldn't have wanted to walk away from."

Loghain's face appeared yet again in her mind.

"No, I didn't." Tears filled her eyes, and she turned her face away.

"It's all right." Daveth put a hand on her arm. "Everything's going to be all right. Just give it some time. What happened in that place was . . . rough. Something I couldn't ever have expected. Seeing my mum. My little sis with her puppy. And then having it all torn away? Broke my heart, too. Maybe not quite as badly as yours, though."

Rhianna turned to face him. "It hurts, doesn't it? To believe in something. Something you want so much. Only to learn it was never real to begin with."

That was true not just of the dream, but also of her whole life with Loghain. Or, rather, without him.

"Who was he? This man of yours? Why aren't you still together?"

"Why aren't we together?" A noise came from Rhianna's throat, half laughter, half sob. "Oh, Maker." She let her head fall back, and stared up at the ceiling. "That's a long story, one that started with my father turning down his marriage proposal, and ended with . . . well, to be honest, I'm still not entirely sure what happened to drive him away. I told him I didn't care what my father said. That we could just wait until I turned eighteen. But . . . he left, anyway." She caught Daveth's gaze. "You asked who he is. I haven't told this to any of the others, and I'm not sure I ever will. But the man I dreamed about . . . the man I wanted to marry? It's Loghain. Loghain Mac Tir."

Daveth arched a brow and tilted his head to one side. "Loghain?" Then, he shook his head, as if to clear it. "You mean the teyrn? The one who sat with us at the campfire that night? The same Loghain that Alistair's always going on about?"

"Yes. The same Loghain."

Daveth let out a slow whistle. "Well, that explains a few things, doesn't it? More than a few." He paused. "It must be miserable for you. Not only did you lose someone you loved, but to hear all this awful talk about him constantly?" He wrinkled his nose. "And you don't know why he left? You loved him. And, since you said he asked your father for your hand, he must have loved you, too?"

"I don't know what happened." Her voice sounded small and pathetic, even to her own ears. "I'm not even sure he ever loved me. I thought he did, once. I felt certain of it, but now?" She let out a breath. "Loghain and I . . . we knew one another for years and years. And I really thought he loved me. But now . . ." A tear slid down her cheek. "I don't what to believe. Probably he never cared as much as I thought he did. Either way, it hardly matters now. He's made it clear that anything we might have had together is over. He told me as much at Ostagar."

"At Ostagar? What are you talking about? From what I saw, he seemed quite fond of you. When we were all sitting around the campfire, and he asked about your brother, and then you sang that song. I saw the way he looked at you that night. He didn't look like a man who was 'over' anything."

Something inside of her twisted. "He  _was_  kind to me that night, and the day before, when I went to see him right after Duncan and I arrived at the camp. But the next day, just before the battle, he made it very clear that he wanted nothing at all to do with me, ever again. And anyway, none of that matters now, does it? He's got soldiers searching for me, trying to arrest me. It's possible he even believes I helped murder Cailan." Her lower lip trembled. "But to see him like I did in the dream. To have him hold me and kiss me, only to remember that it can't ever really happen? And then I had to kill him. He didn't run away like your mum did. He came at me with a sword, and I had to . . ."

Rhianna put her face in her hands, and sobbed.

Daveth slipped an arm around her shoulders, and scooted close. "It's all right," he whispered, and his hand rubbed at her upper arm. "I know everything hurts at the moment, but it's going to be all right." He pulled her up against his chest. "And here I thought I had it bad. I miss my mum and my sis, but I know they're right where they're supposed to be, even if I'm not there with them. And I know they care about me, and wish I was there."

Rhianna relaxed against him, grateful for his warmth, and the steady rhythm of his breath. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and they sat together for a few minutes in silence.

Finally, she pulled away. "Every time I think I'm going to be able to get over this, that it might stop hurting all the time, something else happens to remind me all over again."

"Yeah, that's the way of things, isn't it?" He paused. "So, how long did the two of you know one another, anyway?"

"How long?" Rhianna took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I can barely remember a time when I didn't know Loghain Mac Tir. We met for the first time - at least the first time I can remember - when I was five years old. I'd fallen on a piece of glass and hurt my arm, and he bandaged it for me, and pulled me into his lap and told me a story, and . . . we were friends ever since." She bit back another sob. "He was so kind to me. He was always kind to me. It's funny, even before Ostagar, people talked about him as though he were gruff and cold and unkind. But that's not true. He isn't any of those things. He's a wonderful man. Compassionate and funny and gentle . . . at least he always was with me." Her vision swam. "Until that last time we spoke, anyway." She took a ragged breath. "He was my best friend for so many years. And then, when I was grown . . ." Heat formed behind her eyes again, but she blinked back the tears.

"Go on," Daveth urged. "It'll help to get it all out."

Rhianna looked up into his eyes. "I knew that I loved him. For years, I knew. Before I even understood what that meant. I knew I wanted to be with him. And then, last year, for a little while I thought he felt the same. I thought he and I were going to be together. He said that's what he wanted, and I know it's what I wanted. Everything was so good. It was perfect. We were so good together, I know we were. But then, everything fell apart."

"I don't understand. He's a nobleman. Not just any nobleman; he's a teyrn, and the queen's father. Why in the world did your father say no?"

"Because my father . . ." Should she tell the truth about this? Could anyone be harmed by it? Considering that her father and Cailan were both dead, there seemed little point in keeping it a secret. "My father wanted me to marry Cailan."

"Wait." He arched a brow. "Cailan, as in the king?"

"Yes."

"But didn't he already have a wife?"

She gave a single, humorless laugh. "Yes. He had a wife. One who hadn't managed to give him any children, even though I strongly suspect that's not her fault. Cailan intended to set her aside, and for a while he wanted me to be the one to replace her, until he found someone else he wanted more. It was a whim that he had just long enough to destroy everything I'd hoped for with Loghain. And Loghain didn't care enough to try and fight for me." Her shoulders hitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of misery crashed over her.

"Come here," he soothed. "It's going to be all right." He pulled her close, and stroked her hair, and held her while she cried.

Even though it hurt, it still hurt so much, it was a comfort to be held. To know someone cared. That someone else knew the truth about Loghain, so she didn't feel she was keeping a secret that would erupt and destroy her someday.

That maybe she wasn't entirely alone in this world.

‹›‹O›‹›

The next morning, it was a simple matter to find a boat for hire. Kester referred Rhianna to a young woman in the town nearby who fished for a living. After a brief negotiation, she agreed to sail them to Redcliffe for a reasonable fee. Before the morning mist had burned away, they found themselves on Lake Calenhad, moving steadily south. Everyone seemed relieved as they sailed out of the shadow of the Circle Tower.

It was peaceful on the water. Too peaceful, in some ways. They passed through a gorgeous landscape: the shores of the lake were edged with towering evergreen trees, and behind them, to the west, rose the snow-capped Frostbacks. Birds swooped out of the sky to greet Rhianna, and she spied bears and deer, and once a young mountain lion as they glided silently past. It was beautiful, and should have been soothing, but Rhianna almost wished they'd chosen to walk. Fighting a group of bandits, or even darkspawn, sounded strangely appealing - anything to take her mind off of the morbid thoughts that plagued her. That Maker-damned dream she'd had in the Fade. Dane's dream, too, had stirred up memories of her family, and she missed them so much there was a physical pain in her heart. She worried about Fergus; perhaps when they were finished in Redcliffe, she'd return to the Wilds and search for him, darkspawn or no. And visiting the tower had reminded her of Solona, who'd become a true friend in the short time they'd known one another.

Until now, she'd held herself together by not thinking about the people she had lost. By pushing away her loneliness. But now, she felt on the verge of tears, battered by one unhappy memory after another, as every feeling she'd worked so hard to ignore, to banish into the deepest corners of her heart, had been dredged up again. She had lost everyone she cared about. Every single person she had ever been close to was gone, in one way or another. Almost as though Rhianna herself was cursed. Would everyone she loved be taken from her? Maybe it wasn't safe for her to love other people. For their sakes, as well as her own.

No. That was stupid. Stupid and melodramatic. There was no curse. Just a Blight, and Rendon Howe, and Cailan and Eamon and their manipulations. She could almost convince herself it wasn't her fault.

But when she managed to push all those other things from her mind, images of Lothering appeared, and a fresh layer of gloom descended upon her. Lothering  _was_  her fault. She'd done nothing at all to save the people there, and she ached to know the town was gone. It was somewhat ironic; she didn't even like the town. Not really. She'd lost too much of herself there. Lothering was all tied up with Solona and Duncan, and learning that Loghain believed her a traitor. Lothering had witnessed the moment it had fallen upon her to lead this band of companions, for good or for ill. Lothering was desperate refugees, and bandits outside the gates, and the Hawke family, half of whom were probably dead now. Unless they were all dead, along with all the other people who had lived there. Miriam, Ser Bryant, the innkeeer from Dane's Refuge. Where were they? Did they manage to get away in time?

Rhianna closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. The weight of this felt so heavy on her shoulders, and she just wanted the thoughts to stop. She'd do anything to stop feeling so awful, for even a little while.

"What do you think happened to all the people who were in Lothering?" Rhianna opened her eyes and glanced at Alistair; it was as if he'd spoken her thoughts aloud. "When the darkspawn came, I mean."

"I am sure that some of them escaped," Leliana said kindly. "Found their way to Denerim, or somewhere else in Ferelden. Or perhaps beyond our borders, to Orlais or the Free Marches." Her smile faltered. "But, no doubt many of them died. It is as the Maker wills."

The Maker? The Maker could go hang if that's the sort of thing He willed.

Rhianna didn't say that, though. This was likely to be hardest on Leliana. She had lived there, after all. She knew those people, and the town had been her home.

"How long did you live in Lothering," Daveth asked.

"Three years."

Alistair leaned closer. "Don't you wish you could have stayed? To help those people, I mean?"

"No, I did not want to stay." Leliana's voice was strained. "What good would that have done? They were told they needed to leave. Should I have died along with those who chose not to follow that advice? Besides, if the Blight is not stopped, everyone will die. This is the greater good we are serving, all of us, right here."

"So it's all right to let some people die for the greater good?" Alistair looked out into the distance. "I . . . I'm not so sure about that. It feels terrible. Knowing we just left all those people back there to die, all panicked and helpless."

"Of course I don't feel good about it," Leliana replied. "But there was nothing more we could have done, and nothing to stop it from happening. Not yet. We will stop the Blight, and save a great many people. But this is only the beginning. There will be worse yet to come. You must steel yourself to face such things. We all must."

"I've never been good at that," he admitted. "The steeling myself part. Sometimes, I think it's better to be a little bit weak. I'm all right with that, really."

"Hmnh." Leliana arched a brow. "Either way, it's not as if any of us has a choice."

"That is not true." Everyone turned to face Morrigan, who had been quiet up until now. "We always have a choice. Some of the choices may seem horrible, and not like options at all. But there is always something to be chosen, and another thing to be rejected. We chose to leave Lothering. And we will have to live with the consequences. As Leliana said, you must steel yourself to face such things. But do not pretend you have been given no choice."

"What are you talking about?" Alistair sounded indignant. "What choice did we have? To stay in Lothering, and die along with everyone else?"

"Yes, exactly. Or to stay a while longer and help convince those people that they needed to leave. Perhaps help them pack their belongings, or knock them over the head and drag them out, one at a time. Or we could have chosen to sit in the Chantry, and prayed ceaselessly to your Maker in the hope that he might hear and care. There were many other things we could have chosen. And I am not saying we should have done something different. I believe we made the correct choice. In which case, there is little sense in feeling guilty about what happened." She shrugged. "Besides, it is likely none of our other options would have made things any better."

She was right. Nothing they could have done in Lothering would have made much difference. Still, that didn't ease the sense of guilt. Somehow, Rhianna felt compelled to go back. To see the destruction for herself. Look for survivors, even though that was sure to be pointless. Lothering had sat completely undefended. Returning to see what had happened would be a waste of time, and a source of unnecessary heartache.

Leliana said it was the will of the Maker, but that was the least satisfactory answer of all. What sort of god was the Maker, if He turned His back on His people, time and time again? He was useless. Worse than useless, He was cruel and cold and horrible. What point was there in worshipping such a god? He deserved disdain, not respect or devotion.

Of course, if she was being honest, she'd never been particularly fond of the Maker. Recent events had served to remind her of this, but in truth, Andraste had always seemed more accessible, more loving, more of an inspiration. Of course, these were thoughts best kept to herself. No matter how much the Maker persisted in ignoring His people, for some reason, we kept trying to get His attention. And people who spoke out against this tended to regret it.

"So," Daveth began, "what are the chances that this Arl Eamon was actually poisoned by his wife?"

"It seems unlikely to me," Rhianna replied, grateful for the change of subject. "And completely ridiculous that his brother, Teagan, could have had any part in it. I know Teagan fairly well, and I can vouch for his good character. I've never met Isolde, though, so I can't exactly say the same for her."

"I have met the arlessa," Alistair said. "And I wouldn't put it past her. She's a bit of a shrew. Well, more than a bit. She's nasty, through and through. Unless she's somehow changed over the past few years, but I can't imagine that happening." He shrugged. "Of course, I wouldn't be surprised if Loghain was behind it, somehow. Now that Cailan's gone, Eamon is the logical choice to be king. If Loghain wants to grab the throne, getting rid of Eamon would be crucial."

Maker's balls.

"How many times must I say this? Loghain doesn't want to be king," Rhianna insisted. "And Eamon is hardly a logical choice to succeed Cailan. I can think of half a dozen people with a better claim. Myself included."

"I can't think of single better choice," Alistair replied. "Eamon might not be of royal blood, but he was Queen Rowan's brother and King Cailan's uncle. More important, he's very popular with the people."

"Popular?" Rhianna had to hold back laughter. "Popular with whom?" Eamon had some power in the south, but no one in the Coastlands or the Bannorn seemed to have a particularly high regard for him.

Alistair's brow furrowed. "Well . . . everyone in the Landsmeet. And the people of Ferelden look up to him, as well."

"He may have the loyalty of his freeholders in the south, and they're happy for him to run their arling, but that's no reason to think anyone will want him to take the throne. And there are those who never forgave him for taking an Orlesian bride. That caused trouble back when it happened, and his reputation never completely recovered, and I doubt you'll find anyone happy with the idea of Isolde being the queen. But all this is moot, anyway. We don't need a new ruler. There is no reason the Landsmeet shouldn't confirm Anora. She's already the queen, and she's a good queen."

"There are a lot of people who won't want Anora," Alistair insisted. "She's Loghain's daughter, after all. The daughter of a traitor, and a commoner."

"I think you mean to say the daughter of a hero, and a teyrn." Anger began to build in Rhianna's chest. "Regardless of who her father is, Anora has ruled this country for the past five years, and ruled it well."

"Oh, but there are those who don't think Anora Mac Tir is suitable," Wynne said. "I'm not saying I agree, but you know what people say: the reason Cailan never had an heir is that Anora is barren. That it's a curse from the Maker for bringing a commoner into the royal line."

"That is utterly ridiculous," Rhianna said. "Not only should those things not matter - Ferelden doesn't have an inherited monarchy; we have the right to elect whomever we want - but as for there being no heir, trust me when I say it was Cailan who had the problem. He took plenty of opportunities to conceive children upon other women, and none of them ever produced a royal bastard."

"What do you mean, he took opportunities?" Alistair's nose wrinkled. "Are you saying King Cailan cheated on the queen."

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

"You don't know that, though," Wynne insisted. "There are always rumors about such things, but everyone knows that Cailan loved his wife. I'm disappointed that you would so readily believe ridiculous gossip of that sort. Someone like you ought to know better."

Rhianna almost laughed in the woman's face, as an image of Cailan flashed through her mind: the king in Orlais, unclothed, with a smudge of pink lip paint on his cheek.

Was it worth the effort to argue about this? Probably not, and Rhianna might have to reveal more about her own history with the king than she felt comfortable with the others knowing.

"My point is," Rhianna began, "that it's quite a leap to blame Loghain for Eamon's illness. Let's just wait until we arrive in Redcliffe, and see for ourselves what happened." Although, to be honest, if Loghain thought Eamon posed a threat to Ferelden, or to Anora, it wasn't outlandish that he might have taken action.

"You just never want to blame Loghain for anything," Alistair muttered. "In spite of ample evidence to the contrary."

"What evidence? You have literally no reason to suspect that Loghain had anything to do with this."

"It's not unreasonable at all." Wynne shook her head, as if surprised anyone would question this. "Loghain murdered the king, and, as a matter of fact, he can be blamed for the destruction of the Circle of Magi. Indirectly, at least."

"How can you blame Loghain for that? All he did was forge an alliance that promised to improve conditions in the Circle. I cannot for even one minute believe that Loghain knew Uldred was a blood mage, or was consorting with demons."

"Uldred was out of control, and Loghain knew," Wynne snapped back. "He had to know. We're talking about the man who nearly destroyed us all at Ostagar. When I told Irving what Loghain did on the battlefield, revealed him for the traitorous bastard he is, that's when Uldred snapped. Obviously, he wanted to hide all of that from those of the Circle who had not been in the battle."

Rhianna's anger flared brighter. "According to Niall, you were the one whose comments started the fighting. Everything was calm until you confronted Uldred and forced his hand."

"I started it?"

"Yes, by talking out of turn. You're wrong about Ostagar. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Me and Alistair, for lighting the signal beacon late." Wynne opened her mouth to speak, but Rhianna didn't give her a chance. "Why in the world would you assume Loghain meant to betray the Circle? I have known him my whole life. He and I were friends for years and years. If he promised to help the mages gain more freedom, then he was sincere. He would never have agreed to support the Circle unless that's what he intended to do."

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Wynne sat up straighter. "Uldred was out of control, and Loghain knew. He had to know."

"Yes, well," Alistair drawled, "Rhianna here isn't convinced that Loghain is responsible for the king's death. In spite of the fact that he abandoned King Cailan and the Grey Wardens in the middle of the battle."

"Of course he betrayed the king," Wynne scoffed. "That man is a murderer. I was there, at Ostagar. I watched it happen."

"No you didn't." Everyone turned to look at Daveth.

"I beg your pardon," Wynne said. "I most certainly did. I was there, in the battle."

"Is that so? You watched Loghain betray the king?" Daveth stared at the older woman. "You're telling me you were right there with the king, when it happened?" He paused. "I'm telling you that's not true. Because I  _was_  there, at the king's side. I watched the king get picked up by an ogre, and shook until his neck snapped. That's what killed him, not Loghain. And I seem to remember the Circle mages being on the ramparts above us at the beginning of the battle. But by the time that ogre showed up, you were all long gone, weren't you? So of the two of us, which one watched, and which one abandoned the king to his fate?"

Wynne's eyes grew wide, but before she could reply, Alistair said, "But Loghain was supposed to charge-"

"That's enough." Daveth cut Alistair off mid-sentence. "Do you hear me? That's enough. We've heard this before. Time and time again, and we all know your opinion of Loghain. But that's not the problem here. The problem is that you've done nothing but badger Rhianna about this. For weeks and weeks." He turned to Wynne, "And if you're going to travel with us, maybe this a good time to get one thing straight: I don't want to hear anymore talk about how Loghain betrayed the king, or poisoned this arl fellow, or kicked your puppy when you were small. We're finished with all that. Do you understand?"

"You have a lot of nerve, young man." Wynne puffed up like a pigeon. "Presuming to tell me what I can and cannot say."

"No. You're the one with a lot of nerve," Daveth replied. "For weeks, Alistair has argued and argued and argued with Rhianna, and now you're happy to join in, but the truth is that neither of you know the first thing about Loghain Mac Tir. You say he betrayed the king, only neither of you were there on the field when Cailan died. But Rhianna? She has good reason for the things she says." He turned to Wynne. "How many times did you speak with Loghain?"

"Me? I've never had a conversation with the man."

"That's what I thought." He turned to Alistair. "What about you? How well do you know the teyrn?"

"That doesn't matter." Alistair's face flushed red. "Why would that matter? Whether I've spoken with him or not, I know what happened at Ostagar."

"Oh, it matters. It definitely matters. Because Rhianna told you that she knows the kind of person he is. And every word that comes out of your mouth - every time you accuse him of betraying Cailan, of being evil and horrible, after she's told you that she knows him . . ." Daveth leaned closer. "Do you have any idea how disrespectful you've been to her? Time and time again." He turned to Wynne. "And you've done it too, just now. The last thing I'm willing to tolerate is the two of you ganging up on Rhianna. Especially about this."

"How dare you?" Wynne sat up straighter. "Who in the world do you think you are?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Wynne sputtered again, but Daveth continued, "Just how arrogant are you, that you think your opinions are more valuable than hers? She knows this man. She was in the war council at Ostagar. She's admitted to lighting the beacon late, and I'm telling you that the king never had a chance. If Rhianna says Loghain didn't intend for the king to die, that's good enough for me. And it ought to be good enough for you, as well.

"But none of that is what matters. What matters is that she never asked for any of this. She never asked to become a Grey Warden. She never asked for this Blight. Maker knows she never asked to be put in charge. We did that. We put her in charge, and I've never once heard any of you give her a word of thanks for everything she's done. And neither have I, for that matter, but I intend for that to change."

He turned to Rhianna. "Thank you. I've no doubt I'd be dead if it weren't for you, and I think you're the best chance Ferelden has of getting through this thing in one piece."

Rhianna blinked, and heat rose up in her cheeks, but before she could think of something to say, Daveth turned back to the others. "Now, let's get something straight here: we've agreed to follow her. All of us." His gaze fell on Wynne, and then Alistair. "Maybe you should remember that, and show a little respect before you refuse to hear what she has to say about things. Even if you don't agree with her. Even if by some strange twist of fate, Loghain's changed from the man Rhianna knew half her life. Even if you're right, you still need to stop, because you are being disrespectful and rude toward a woman who deserves better." He leaned back. "You've both made your opinions abundantly clear, so it's time to drop it. I don't want to hear another word from either of you about Loghain Mac Tir."

Daveth turned and looked out over the shore as it rolled past. For more than a minute, no one broke the silence.

Finally, Morrigan stretched her legs out in front of her. "Hear, hear," she murmured.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Amanda Kitswell, Psyche Sinclair, Kevin, and Sehnsucttraum, and to my wonderful reviewers as well: Irish_Changeling, Jena13, Papercutpeterson, Yarnandtea, KatDancer, and Kevin.


	31. We will make it through, together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions arrive in Redcliffe.

__**3 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Lake Calenhad** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Just as the sun neared its zenith in the sky, the little fishing boat glided into a finger of water that jutted off to the east at the far southern end of the lake. Ahead was the city of Redcliffe and up above, on the top of a cliff, loomed the castle. From the water, the city looked small, and appeared to be built in levels, from the waterline of the eastern shore up into the hills.

It was a picturesque little village. Evergreen trees dotted the hillsides, and small boats floated in the harbor. The Chantry's spire rose above everything else in the town, and the castle looked majestic from this angle, with one large tower at the front and a series of smaller ones along the curtain wall that protected its western edge.

As they sailed closer, however, it was obvious that something wasn't right here.

All of the boats were tethered in their berths; not a single one of them sailed upon the lake. And as the dock came into view, there were no people upon it. No fishermen unloading their daily catch, no merchants, no children playing in the streets. A haze of smoke lay across everything, and its stink in the air – like a funeral pyre combined with an odor of rotting fish - was not at all pleasant.

As their captain eased the boat up beside the dock, Rhianna jumped out to secure a rope to one of the dock's wooden posts.

"No need to tether it tightly," the young woman who'd brought them here said. "I don't like the look of things here. I had thought to enjoy a hot meal in the tavern, but . . . on second thought, I think I'll head back right away."

To be honest, Rhianna didn't blame her. It only took a minute for her and her companions to collect their things and step ashore. Then, Rhianna untied the rope and tossed it back on board, and gave the bow a firm push to get the boat pointed back out toward the lake. With a friendly wave and a smile, the fisherwoman maneuvered the small boat back into the bay, and began to turn north.

As the others walked down the dock toward town, Alistair pulled Rhianna aside.

"Look, can we talk for a moment? I need to . . . tell you something." He wrinkled his nose. "Something I, ah, should probably have told you earlier."

That sounded ominous.

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

He took a deep breath. "Remember when I told you how Arl Eamon raised me? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle, and the Arl took me in after I was born?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well . . ." Alistair looked out over the water and ran a hand through his hair. "The reason he did that was because . . . well, because." He paused. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it. My father was King Maric."

"Your . . . What?" Had she heard that correctly? "Maric was your father?"

Maker's blood. When she'd first met Alistair, she had thought he looked familiar, but never made the connection. Now that he'd said it, though . . . now that he'd said Maric's name . . .

"I can't believe I didn't see it before," she said, more to herself than to Alistair. "You look just like him. Well, not exactly like him, but enough that I should have seen it. Your nose, the shape of your eyes. The line of your jaw . . ."

"Oh." Alistair sounded a bit dazed. "That's right. Sometimes I forget you knew him."

"Yes. I knew him quite well." Or thought she had. But she'd never heard even a whisper about Maric siring any children other than Cailan. Of course, Alistair was older than she was, so it had all happened before she was born. Perhaps hardly anyone knew. Had her parents known?

None of that mattered though, did it? Alistair was Maric's son. Blessed Andraste, that changed . . . everything. Annoyance flickered in her chest. "I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Why didn't I tell you? I don't know." He shrugged. "You never asked?"

She crossed her arms in front of her. "That's a cheap answer."

He exhaled loudly. "Well, maybe I was just distracted with the Blight and the war, and the massacre of all my friends. Things like that."

"Oh." The anger flared more brightly. "You mean while I was carrying on in spite of the massacre of my entire family?"

Alistair flinched, and his shoulders sagged. "Point taken." He let out another breath. "Look, I'm sorry. But it's not like it matters. Not really. I'm only telling you now because I didn't want you to walk into Redcliffe not knowing the truth. It's possible Arl Eamon will mention it, and that would be . . . awkward. I wanted you to hear it from me. But other than that, it's not in the least bit important."

"Not important?" She pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. "Alistair, of course it's important. Maybe it wasn't before Ostagar, but it is now."

His eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're Maric's son, and Anora hasn't yet been confirmed as queen. If there are people looking for someone to replace her – conservatives who want to preserve the Theirin line at all costs – they'll see you as having a strong claim to the throne." She paused. "Conservatives like Eamon Guerrin."

"No. Oh, no," Alistair insisted. "No, no, no, no, no. I don't have any claim to any throne. I have no desire to be the king, and I never have. I'm the son of a commoner, and a Grey Warden to boot. Let someone else do it. Arl Eamon, or his brother. You could be queen if you like. So long as the person who ends up on the throne is anyone other than me."

Rhianna bit her bottom lip. "It might not be that easy."

"What do you mean?"

"You might not have a choice. If Eamon decides to put your name forward, once people find out about you . . . what you want might not matter."

Just like what Rhianna wanted had never mattered, not when it came to this. No doubt, Eamon would rather see anyone other than Anora take the throne, and he was manipulative enough to ignore Alistair's wishes. Anora was popular, but would she be able to get enough support to balance out the fact that Alistair was a Theirin?

Rhianna's heart raced. Coming to Redcliffe had been a very big mistake.

She looked out over the water. The boat that had brought them here was nearly to the mouth of the bay. Well out of shouting distance, or else Rhianna would have called the woman back, and insisted that they return to Kinloch Hold and on to Orzammar as originally planned. Somewhere far enough away from Eamon Guerrin that he wouldn't be able to interfere with things until Anora was safely on the throne.

"No." Alistair's voice was firm. "We don't have to worry about Arl Eamon. He wouldn't do anything like that. That's one of the reasons I wanted to come to him first."

"What do you mean?"

"I've known all along that the Grey Wardens will have to ask the Landsmeet for aid sooner or later, and I was afraid my parentage might become an issue. But Arl Eamon always did his best to hide me from the other nobles. He made sure no one knew I was Maric's son, and he made it abundantly clear to me early on that I was in no way in line for the throne. I was not to get ideas about raising rebellions or any such nonsense. He'll help us keep the secret, and won't try and force me to do anything I don't want to do."

A crease formed along Rhianna's brow. Did Alistair know some other Eamon Guerrin? Because the man Alistair described was nothing like the man Rhianna knew.

There was no point in saying that, though. They were here, and they would just have to make the best of things, no matter what happened next. If only she'd known about this from the start. They should have gone to Denerim right away, gone to Loghain-

Maker's balls. Loghain.

"Does Loghain know? That you're Maric's son?"

Except that was a stupid question, wasn't it? Loghain had seen Alistair at Ostagar; no doubt he wouldn't have been as slow as Rhianna had been to recognize the traces of Maric in Alistair's face.

"I imagine he does. Why wouldn't he? He was King Maric's best friend. Do you think it matters?"

"Yes. It matters."

Oh, it mattered a great deal. For a son of Maric's to turn up out of the blue like this posed a serious threat to Anora's claim to the throne. This might be Loghain's motivation for declaring the Grey Wardens traitors: to get Alistair in custody, and discredit him, before too many people knew there was a Theirin running around Ferelden with a valid claim to the throne. "Loghain might see you as a threat to Anora. He probably fears you intend to try and take the throne from her."

"But I don't want the throne. I have never wanted the throne. Even if I thought it was possible, I don't want it. I'm not cut out for ruling anything, let alone an entire country."

"Loghain has no way to know that, though."

Maker. Loghain might even fear that Rhianna intended to try and take the throne at Alistair's side. Together, the two of them would have a nearly unshakable claim.

This had just become so much more complicated than Rhianna could ever have imagined.

"Look, Rhianna." Alistair stared down at his hands. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I know I should have, but . . . I just didn't want you to know for as long as possible. I suppose I hoped I'd never have to tell you at all."

"But why? Why didn't you want me to know?"

"It's not that I didn't want you, specifically, not to know. I just don't ever talk about it. Ever. I've spent my whole life trying to forget about it. It's not like King Maric or Cailan ever treated me like part of the family. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule, so they kept me a secret. And everyone who did know either resented me for it, or coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I'm sure that's why I was shunted off to light the beacon. And . . . well, I guess I just wanted there to be one person who would get to know me for . . . me. Not for some accident of my birth."

Fair enough. There were times in her own life she'd wished being the daughter of a teyrn hadn't mattered so much.

"All right." She sighed. "We'll figure out a way to make this work. If we can just keep anyone from finding out long enough for Anora to take the throne, then it really won't matter. Hopefully you're right, and Eamon will keep your secret."

"Eamon will keep the secret. I'm sure of it. He knows as well as I do that I'm not cut out to be a leader of men." He ran a hand through his hair again. "Anyway, that's what I wanted to tell you. Thanks for . . . well, just . . . thanks."

He turned and walked to where the others waited. Without glancing back, he led the way into the village, while Rhianna remained on the dock.

Maker.

Alistair was Maric's son. Everything felt so much heavier now. This was a complication she hadn't expected, one she couldn't have even imagined. One that could have far reaching effects.

She should have realized weeks ago that Alistair was Maric's son. There's enough of a resemblance. And if she'd known, they could have done things differently. Gone straight to Loghain. Surely, once Loghain knew Alistair had no designs upon the throne, he'd call off this vendetta against the Grey Wardens. Assuming that was his motivation for sending soldiers after them. That made more sense than any other theory she'd been able to come up with.

She closed her eyes, and forced herself to let out a slow breath. There was no point in worrying about any of this right now. Who knew if they'd even be able to speak with Eamon. He might be dead or dying, in which case Alistair was right, and it would never become an issue.

An uncomfortable feeling in her gut suggested otherwise, though. If Eamon was alive, this would mean trouble. Alistair's faith aside, Rhianna didn't trust Eamon Guerrin at all.

She hurried to catch up with the others.

As they left the waterfront, a man with a bow strapped to his back ran toward them. "Thank the Maker," he panted. "I . . . I thought I saw a boat approaching the dock, though I scarcely believed it! You've come to help us, haven't you? Please say you're here to help."

"I don't know if we'll be able to help," Rhianna replied. "We heard Arl Eamon is ill, and we just wanted to see for ourselves what was going on. We do have a healer with us, but . . ."

"No, that's not what I mean. You . . . don't know? Has nobody out there heard?"

"What are you talking about?" Alistair's voice was strained. "Heard what?"

"Redcliffe is under attack! Arl Eamon could be dead, for all we know." The man gestured toward the castle. "Monsters come down the hill every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone's been fighting . . . and dying, and no one's come out of the castle in days. Not anyone alive, at least. We've no proper army to defend us since the knights were all sent away. There's no arl and no king to send help!"

"Monsters?" Alistair turned to Rhianna. "The darkspawn must have found their way here after they were finished in Lothering."

"Are they darkspawn?" Rhianna asked.

"I . . . I don't rightly know," the man admitted. "I've never seen a darkspawn. These things . . . well, they look like living corpses. Sometimes they have familiar faces, like they're people from the village who died and got back up again."

"That sounds more like ghouls than darkspawn," Morrigan said.

"Look, I don't know what they are." The note of panic grew in his voice. "But I should take you to Bann Teagan. He's all that's holding us together. He'll want to see you right away."

"Teagan Guerrin is here?" Rhianna couldn't keep the excitement from her voice, and a smile played across her lips.

"Yes. He arrived earlier in the week. Since we can't get into castle, he's taken up residence in the Chantry." He waved a hand. "Come with me."

Teagan Guerrin was here. That was the best news she'd heard in weeks and weeks. She couldn't think of a single person in the entire world she would rather see.

They followed the man through the narrow streets of the town. Redcliffe appeared to be a typical fishing village, with timber-framed houses that lined the streets, their roofs steeply pitched against winter snowfall. Buildings nearest the lake were built on platforms to stay above the high-water mark. A river rushed down from the hills in a series of small falls, causing a water wheel to turn not far from where the river spilled into the lake. High above, a windmill stood on the hill like a silent sentry.

It was a pretty little town, but it was silent and eerie. They'd arrived at noon; the streets should have bustled with people. But no shopkeepers hawked their wares. No townspeople went about their business. No children or dogs ran through the streets shouting and laughing and barking.

Finally, when they reached the town square, there were people: a row of archers busy at target practice. Behind them a magnificent wooden Chantry stood at the far end of the square. It was a large building - by far the biggest in the town, save the castle – with tiered overhanging roofs covered in wooden shingles, and a quartet of carved dragon heads that swept up from the ridged roof crests.

Inside, it became clear why there were no townspeople in the streets. They were all in here, huddled together in small groups, or sitting alone in the pews, or on the Chantry's wooden floor. Most were calm and quiet, and stared dazedly ahead, but there was soft weeping and hushed voices, as well. These people seemed even more disheartened than the refugees in Lothering had been.

As they walked the length of the nave and approached the altar, a man turned toward them.

A smile spread across Rhianna's face, one so broad it hurt.

"Rhianna?" Teagan's eyes grew wide. "Maker's breath. Rhianna Cousland. Is it really you?"

He rushed forward, and caught her up in an embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and he pulled her close, lifting her up off her feet. His face was warm against her cheek, and his beard scratched her skin, and when he set her down again and spread his hands flat across her back, she burrowed herself against him.

Maker. It felt so good - so very good - to be in held in his arms. The arms of someone she knew. Someone she cared about, and who cared about her. She clung to him much longer than a friendly greeting would warrant, but he didn't seem to mind. His arms remained firm around her until she eased herself from his grasp.

"Teagan." She blinked back tears. "Oh, Teagan. I had no idea you would be here. This . . . this is the best thing that's happened to me in an age."

Teagan took her face between his hands. "Yes. For me as well. I . . . oh, Maker. It's good to see you." He let his hands drop to his sides. "But I don't understand. What in the world are you doing here?"

"We heard that Eamon had fallen ill, and thought we should come and see what happened."

"Yes. Eamon is ill, and quite inexplicably. From what I've heard, he just didn't wake up one morning. I'm told he looks peaceful, as though he's merely asleep, but it is a sleep from which he cannot wake."

"What do you mean, you were told?" Rhianna frowned. "Haven't you seen him?"

"No." Teagan ran a hand through his hair. "I arrived just a few days ago. I was on my way home from Denerim when I learned that Eamon had fallen ill. So, I altered my course to see what was happening. But when I arrived in the village, I discovered that things are far worse than I could have imagined. I've not been able to enter the castle. During the day, the gates remain barred. No guards patrol the walls, and no one responded to my shouts. And I don't know what you've heard, but there are . . . monsters. What they might be, I have no idea, but they come down from the castle once night falls. Evil, bloodthirsty . . . things, that surge down into the village and attack everyone they encounter. We've managed to drive them back each night, but the following night they return, in greater numbers than before."

"Can you describe these things?" Wynne asked.

"To be honest, they seem to be walking corpses. Men with rotted flesh that continue to attack even with the gravest injuries."

"Spirits possessing the dead, most likely," Morrigan said.

"Spirits possessing the dead?" A deep furrow formed along Teagan's brow. "But how is such a thing possible?"

"There could be several reasons," Morrigan shrugged. "None of them pleasant."

"All I know," Teagan replied, "is that each night they come, in ever greater numbers. The people of the village have had to defend themselves with almost no assistance. Isolde sent most of the regular soldiers away, along with all of Eamon's knights, to search after some ancient relic that she believes might cure his illness. And of those soldiers who stayed behind, only a few remain in the village; most of them were stationed inside the castle, and nothing has been heard from of them for more than a week."

"Then the arlessa really did send them all away to look for the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Rhianna shook her head. "That's what we heard from a tavern keeper at the Lake Calenhad docks. That was the reason we came here in the first place."

"Yes," he confirmed. "They seek Andraste's ashes. Knowing Isolde, I suppose it isn't a surprise. I question her decision to send so many knights in search of this relic, but I am a practical man whereas she is a woman of great faith."

"Yes, I thought it seemed . . . well, rather outlandish," Rhianna said. "I suppose Eamon must be quite desperately ill if his wife would go to such lengths."

"Exactly. And I know she could not have foreseen the arrival of this new horror, but it came at the worst possible time. With so few soldiers here to fight, we are practically defenseless. I fear tonight's assault will be the worst yet, and with Cailan dead and his armies destroyed at Ostagar, there is no one to call for help, even should we manage to survive this night, or the next, or the next. It seems like a miracle that you've turned up here, now."

"I don't know if we'll be the miracle you need. We came here seeking help ourselves, in fighting the darkspawn."

"Darkspawn?"

"Yes, I'm a Grey Warden now, as are two of my companions." Rhianna gestured toward Alistair and Daveth.

"You're . . . what?" Teagan shook his head, as if in disbelief.

"A Grey Warden." A wave of exhaustion washed over her at the thought. This really was her life now. A life she hadn't chosen, and would never be able to escape. And it appeared no help would be found here in Redcliffe. Only more death and destruction, just as they had found at the Circle Tower.

"Yes. We're Grey Wardens." Alistair took a step closer. "I remember you, Bann Teagan, although you might not remember me. The last time we met I was a lot younger, and probably covered in mud."

"Covered in mud?" Teagan studied Alistair's face, and then burst into a smile. "Alistair? It is you, isn't it? You're . . . you're alive! I had no idea what became of you after you left the Chantry. This is wonderful news!"

"Still alive, yes, for the time being. Though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it." Alistair's eyes flitted toward Daveth.

"Yes, I heard something about that," Teagan agreed. "Loghain believes the Grey Wardens were responsible for my nephew's death at Ostagar."

"You can't possibly believe that story?" Alistair crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Loghain's version of what happened at Ostagar?"

"I don't know what to believe. Loghain said that Cailan risked everything in the name of glory, and that Loghain had to pull his men in order to save them."

"That is what happened," Rhianna said. "Loghain tried to convince Cailan not fight on the front lines, but Cailan was wrapped up in this fantasy about being part of a glorious battle just like in the tales. He was determined to fight alongside the legendary Grey Wardens, and slay the archdemon. You know how he was, how caught up he could get with things. When the battle went south, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn't Loghain's fault."

"Only it was," Alistair insisted. "Loghain was supposed to charge. Supposed to come and save the king, and the Wardens, and the rest of the army. Only he didn't, and everyone died. And now Arl Eamon is ill, as well. I can't help thinking the timing of this is awfully . . . convenient."

Teagan frowned. "Are you suggesting that Eamon's illness is related to Cailan's death?"

"I can't think of anyone other than Loghain who would benefit by Eamon being poisoned," Alistair replied.

"We don't know that he was poisoned," Leliana said. "You are jumping to a conclusion, Alistair. We should wait until we know the facts before making such a judgment."

"I agree," Teagan said. "This is no time to leap to conclusions. I would not like to think that anyone wished this on my brother. Eamon is . . . well, he has his faults, like all of us do, but he is well loved by the people of Redcliffe. Perhaps it is merely some new sort of illness the healers have not seen before. I do hope there will prove some way to cure him. It pains me to think of my nephew losing his father at such a young age."

Teagan hadn't mentioned Isolde. Was that an oversight, or did he have reason to believe the arlessa would not mourn Eamon's loss?

"Either way," Teagan continued, "Loghain risks civil war. I spoke with Anora, and she seemed convinced that her father is doing what is best for Ferelden, but I have my doubts. He calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. Surely that isn't true. It seems to me the act of a desperate man." He turned to Rhianna. "Is Loghain aware that you joined the Wardens, milady?"

"Yes. He knows. We spoke at Ostagar. And I don't understand everything that's happened, why he's doing the things he's done. I won't, not until I'm able to sit down with him, and talk things through. But I know in my heart he would never have deliberately allowed Cailan to die."

"That's what I would prefer to believe as well, but . . ." Teagan lifted a brow. "Are you certain that your . . . history with him might not cloud your judgment?" His tone was not unkind, but the words stung, nonetheless.

"I'm certain." she insisted.

"Of course," he agreed, but the worry did not leave his eyes. He turned again to Alistair. "So, I see you became a templar after all?"

Alistair glanced down at his armor, and his cheeks flushed pink. He had wanted to switch back to his splint mail once they were done in the tower, but Rhianna suggested he keep the templar gear. It was much better armor, and it seemed like a good way to deflect some of the trouble they might encounter by virtue of traveling with magic users. If people saw a templar, they would be less likely to become frightened and overreact. It was less likely he'd be recognized as a Grey Warden, as well.

"Well, no," Alistair admitted. "I finished my training, but never took my vows. I'm just a Grey Warden now."

Teagan didn't question the answer. "It sounds as though Grey Wardens will be needed, if what they're saying about the darkspawn is true. Is this a Blight?"

"It is," Alistair replied.

"That is grim news indeed," Teagan sighed. "But knowing that you and Rhianna, and your companions here will be fighting against it does give me hope. Hope that Ferelden will pull through this." He turned back to Rhianna, and took both of her hands in his. "It is good to see you. Better than I have words to say. Especially since I . . . I heard terrible things. Rumors that something happened in Highever, although no one I spoke with knew any of the details."

"Something did happen in Highever. My family was betrayed by Rendon Howe. He . . . he attacked the castle in the middle of the night. My mother and father are dead, along with Fergus' wife and son."

"Maker's blood." His fingers tightened around her own, and his face looked stricken. "Oh, Rhianna, I am so very sorry. This must be . . . this must be awful for you. Your parents, both of them, were exceptionally good people. And what of your brother?"

"Fergus wasn't in Highever during the attack. He had already left for Ostagar with the Highever army, but I didn't see him there. By the time I arrived, he was scouting in the Korcari Wilds, and the party he led had been attacked by darkspawn. But, I do have reason to believe he still lives. That he's out in the Wilds . . . somewhere. But I've no way of going to look for him. Not with darkspawn overrunning the south, and winter on its way."

"I will keep you both in my prayers." He let go of one of her hands, and reached up to cradle her cheek in his palm. "I am so very grateful you're all right, though. That you're safe, and alive."

Rhianna placed one of her hands on top of his, and pressed her cheek into his warmth. "Thank you." She took in a slow breath, and let it out again, and then let her hand fall away. "And it is so good to see you."

Teagan's hand lingered against her face for the space of a heartbeat, and then he withdrew it, with something like regret in his eyes.

"So," Rhianna began, "it seems we need a way into the castle. Find out what's happened in there. Figure out what those creatures are, and defeat them."

It was possible - likely, even - that no one was even alive in the castle. But she didn't say that; no doubt, Teagan had already come to that conclusion on his own.

"You mean to stay here?" Sten spoke for the first time. "Stay and defend this village?"

"Yes." Rhianna blinked in surprise. "Of course."

"I must protest this decision." The Qunari arched a brow. "There are no darkspawn here. It is a fool's errand, and we should leave as soon as possible. Go to the dwarven city and ask for their assistance, as you had originally planned."

"You want to leave?" Alistair's voice was strained. "We can't just leave."

"Of course we can. Our duty is to defeat the darkspawn. This gets us no closer to that goal. There are no darkspawn here."

"I agree with the Qunari," Morrigan said. "It is pointless to help these villagers fight an impossible battle. One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere. Besides, we came seeking assistance, but it appears that, even if we stop whatever plagues this town, any soldiers who might have helped us fight the darkspawn are long dead. There is nothing to be gained by staying."

A vision of Lothering flashed through Rhianna's mind: the way it had looked that last time, when she turned back and burned the sight of it into her memory. The way it had looked before she and her companions walked away, leaving the town and all its people to their fate.

Rhianna glanced around the Chantry. Everywhere were townspeople, frightened and distraught. People who wondered if this would be their last day on earth.

The darkspawn had taken Lothering; most of the people who had lived there were now dead. And she had been powerless to stop it. Here, she was not powerless. Here, she still had a chance to help these people. Here, it was not too late.

"I am staying to fight." She caught the gaze of each of her companions in turn. "You're welcome to do as you like; I won't try and hold you here if you do not believe this worthy of your time. But I am staying to fight. I will not abandon these people to their fate, as I did in Lothering."

Sten's eyes narrowed. "You would save this one village while countless others fall to the darkspawn?"

"Yes." She paused. "I cannot be in all those other villages. I can only be in one place at a time. Right now, I am here. And I intend to do what I can to help."

Sten scoffed quietly, and shrugged his shoulders. "So be it."

Rhianna turned to Morrigan.

"Oh, very well." Morrigan crossed her arms in front of her chest. "It seems you are determined to save every kitten stuck in a tree. I suppose it makes no difference to me whether we stay or go."

As Rhianna glanced at the others, she caught a glimpse of Wynne's expression. The woman had arched one brow high, and pursed her lips disapprovingly.

"Wynne? Is there something you want to say? As I said, you're not obligated to stay and fight this battle if you don't want to."

"What?" She sounded surprised. "I have no qualms about staying, or fighting. None at all."

"Is there something else then?"

Her eyes darted to Teagan, and then back to Rhianna. "Nothing that needs to be discussed just now."

"All right." Rhianna turned to Teagan. "How do you suggest we go about this?"

"If tonight is like the other nights, they will attack as soon as darkness falls. The mayor of the village, a man called Murdock, and Ser Perth, the only one of Eamon's knights who has returned to Redcliffe, have taken charge of the town's defenses. Ser Perth insists that anyone who will not fight stay inside the Chantry, so there is only one place for them to defend. If we can make it through tonight, in the morning perhaps we can find a way into the castle, and get to the bottom of this."

"There are still a few hours before dusk," Rhianna mused aloud. "I'd like to spend them looking around; perhaps come up with some strategy that will help us defend against them more effectively." She bit her bottom lip. "And what about you? Will you fight when night falls, or stay here in the Chantry?"

"Me? I'll stay here. I am no real warrior. Not like yourself. But if things go amiss, I will be these people's last line of defense."

"All right." She paused. "Then I should go speak with Murdock and Ser Perth. Make certain the village is as well-prepared as possible for tonight's attack."

Teagan put his hands on her shoulders. "Thank you, Rhianna. I do not have words to express how happy I am you're alive. How grateful I am that you're here. Ferelden has been plunged into such a variety of horrors, and that you're offering to help . . . I shouldn't be surprised. This isn't the first time you've come to my aid, after all, is it?" A smile pulled the corners of his mouth. "Seeing you here gives me hope that we'll make it through all of this, somehow."

"We will make it through, together." Rhianna stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around Teagan's waist, and he pulled her close again. She rested her face against his chest, and he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. She relaxed against him for a minute, never more grateful for human touch, for the warmth of another person against her skin.

‹›‹O›‹›

Things in the village weren't as dire as Rhianna had expected. Murdock was found in the courtyard in front of the Chantry, overseeing the archery practice. He was a gruff man, and skeptical when Rhianna introduced herself as a Grey Warden, but he was happy enough to accept her assistance when it was offered. There were still soldiers under his command, and many townspeople who were willing to fight, even though they had little formal training. It was these folk Murdock was coaching at archery.

At Murdock's suggestion, they visited the town blacksmith. The man had refused to make any repairs to weapons and armor, because his daughter was trapped in the castle. Rhianna convinced him to make the repairs, and in return she promised to keep an eye out for his daughter, a lady's maid by the name of Valena. The blacksmith had also shared his theory about Redcliffe's troubles: that Lady Isolde was involved with blood magic.

"My daughter used to tell me that the arlessa was up to something. Hiding things from her husband, and having an affair with a tutor she'd hired for the boy. Valena heard . . . strange things. Noises, and the like, as though something unholy were going on in the castle. Wouldn't surprise me. The arlessa is an Orlesian, after all, and far too proud and headstrong for my liking. Wouldn't put it past someone like that to use foul magic."

"You know," Alistair said once they'd left the blacksmith's shop and begun to climb the hill toward the windmill where Ser Perth was stationed, "This is the second time we've heard something about Arlessa Isolde being responsible for the troubles here."

"True," Rhianna agreed. "Both times, she was accused of poisoning Eamon, and of being unfaithful, although with different men."

"I don't put any stock in what that blacksmith said," Leliana replied. "The idea that she is involved with blood magic seems ridiculous. Obviously, he was happy to think the worst of her just because she came from Orlais. Besides, if she wanted her husband dead, why would she have sent all her knights out to look for a cure?"

"She would if she wanted them all out of the castle while she got up to a bunch of blood magic." Alistair did not sound as though he was joking. "Also, it would divert attention from her since she was doing 'everything' she could to save him."

"Well that is a surprise," Morrigan said. "For once, words came out of his mouth that actually made sense. Sending all the knights away would create quite a diversion, especially if this 'cure' is nothing more than a fairy tale, which it must be. The ashes of a woman long dead? What grown woman would believe in a story like that?"

"The Sacred Ashes are no myth," Leliana insisted. "They are real. After Andraste died in Minrathous, one of her disciples, a man named Havard, gathered her ashes and brought them to Ferelden. The exact location has long been hidden; Havard feared that if the Tevinters knew where he had taken Andraste's remains, they would seek to defile them. But the ashes are real, and I see no reason not to believe they would have healing powers."

Morrigan said nothing; she merely rolled her eyes.

"I suppose the real question isn't whether or not the ashes truly have magical powers," Daveth mused aloud, "but whether or not the arlessa believes that they do."

"True," Rhianna agreed. If only Rhianna had met this woman even once before, it would be easier to decide what Isolde's motives might be.

Rhianna glanced at Wynne, and once again, the woman watched Rhianna through narrowed eyes, as though something was bothering her.

"Wynne? Is something wrong?"

Wynne let out an audible, ragged breath. "Well, I just thought your behavior in the Chantry was rather . . . inappropriate."

Rhianna blinked. "Excuse me? What are you talking about."

"That man is the Bann of Rainesfere. And you were awfully . . . familiar with him."

Rhianna stopped walking, and turned to Wynne, a hand on her hip. "Teagan Guerrin is a friend of mine. I have known him for years. We witnessed a wedding together, and we've danced at parties. We've sat up at night drinking warm milk in the kitchen of Highever Castle. I once saved him from being gored to death by a charging boar. Why on earth would I pretend I don't know him?"

Wynne lifted her chin. "I'm just saying that it showed a lack of . . . propriety. You are Grey Warden now, with certain duties, and he is a nobleman of this country. Showing that sort of affection openly, especially in the middle of the Chantry, just isn't . . . seemly."

Was she serious?

Rhianna studied the older woman's face – the deep crease across her brow, the set of her lips, the slight tilt of her head. Yes, it appeared that she was.

"I'll make a point to keep that in mind in the future," she lied.

Rhianna turned, and continued up the hill. First the complaints about Loghain, and now this? Perhaps allowing the mage to come with them had been a bad idea, after all.

‹›‹O›‹›

As evening approached, the sun made a rapid disappearance behind the mountains, but its warm, orange glow lingered for what seemed like hours. Light sparkled and danced on the waters of the lake, and only faded as the first stars twinkled into sight in the sky above.

A frog croaked in the stream nearby, and then another, and a third. Then all at once, crickets burst into song from every direction, a chirped symphony that filled the darkening air with its cheerful cadence.

Rhianna and her companions stood atop the hill by the windmill, at the foot of the road that led down from the castle. They were accompanied by a few dozen soldiers: all who remained of the Redcliffe Regulars, and those villagers who felt secure enough in their fighting skills to brave this battle, rather than barricading themselves in the Chantry. They stood behind a wooden barricade that had been soaked in oil; it would be set ablaze once the creatures approached.

No one spoke; there was only the sound of the frogs and crickets, and the occasional clang of metal against metal, or creak of leather as the soldiers shifted nervously in gear that had recently been repaired by the smith.

How long would they have to wait?

Not long. Not long at all.

As Satina - just past full - rose above the hills, the frogs and crickets fell suddenly silent. In the eerie lull that followed, a strange hum filled Rhianna's head, and a greenish light that glowed softly - like a fog lit by fireflies - began to surge across the bridge from the castle. The humming grew louder as the fog rolled down the hill toward them.

A figure came into view at the top of the hill, nothing more than a silhouette in the fog. Was that one of the creatures? From this distance, it appeared human.

It stood at the top of the road. It didn't move or signal or make any sound.

Perhaps it wasn't a creature after all, but a man. Someone who had managed to escape the castle. But if that were the case, why did he not approach?

A second figure appeared out of the fog, and a third, and a fourth.

They began to advance down the hill, their movements jerky and awkward.

These were not men.

Behind them, half a dozen more now came into view. Rhianna drew her bow.

With a guttural shout, one of the creatures burst out of the fog at a run, a hand axe raised above its head. It sparked the others into action and, like a swarm of rats or roaches fleeing a burning building, they charged down the hill.

When the first one came into range, Rhianna aimed and fired. The arrow struck true; the thing was knocked back a few steps, but managed to stay on its feet. More arrows flew, and a few of the creatures fell to the ground, but soon got back up again.

As the swarm drew near, one of the Redcliffe soldiers tossed a lit torch onto the wooden barricade. The torch hissed and sputtered, and burst into flames that licked at the sky above. The things coming down the hill seemed not to notice; they pushed mindlessly through the barricade, many of them catching fire, but they continued to advance, nonetheless.

Rhianna fired arrows until the first of the flaming creatures made it all the way through the barrier. Then she reached for her sword and dagger, and charged the nearest one.

Up close, it was obvious this thing was not human. The flesh that clung to its bones was discolored and rotting, with a stench even worse than that of the darkspawn. The thing smelled of the grave, of death and putrescence and decay. It fought like a man, with a small axe in one hand and battered armor that covered what was left of its body, and its attacks were swift, but awkward and clumsy.

It swung at her, a strike Rhianna easily dodged. She rushed in with a counter attack. The thing barely reacted as she brought her sword down and severed one of its arms. It seemed not to notice, but merely continued to advance, clawing at her with its remaining hand.

She ducked away, and brought her sword up again. This time, she aimed for the thing's throat.

Decapitation seemed to do the trick; apparently, even an undead creature could no longer navigate without its head.

The fighting went on and on, as a seemingly endless stream of the creatures shambled down from the castle. The air was filled with the sounds of battle: the clash of metal on metal, the war cries of the humans, and the strange grunts and shouts of the ghouls. The flames of the barricade cast a warm glow into the darkness, but couldn't quite dispel the cold, uncomfortable green fog that wrapped itself around everything in its path. Again and again Rhianna charged and attacked, dodged and parried, pushed the hair back from her face with a gauntleted hand streaked with unimaginable filth, and charged again.

Finally, it was over.

All the creatures lay motionless and, thankfully, most of the humans had survived. Rhianna began to cross the field, in search of her companions, needing to know all of them were safe. Before she could locate any familiar faces in the hazy clearing, someone came running up the path from the village.

"The monsters are attacking from the lake!" he shouted. "They're attacking the barricades! We need help! Please, hurry!"

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Kevin, Amanda Kitswell and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: Riptide, LadyDarksbane, Blunted-edge, Yarnandtea, Irish_Changeling, The reader, Nymra, Kenedii, and Papercutpeterson.


	32. Brave as well as beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teagan has a plan for getting into Redcliffe Castle.

__**4 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** **Redcliffe** **  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna wasn't certain how long the battle lasted, or how many creatures had descended upon the village and been killed. She only knew that sometime before dawn broke, when the eastern sky had yet to lighten in the distance, the creatures stopped coming and she was able to put down her sword.

Every one of the people who now stood in the courtyard in front of the Chantry was battered and bruised, covered in blood and gore. At her side, Dane sat on his haunches, an injured paw held aloft. Sten favored one leg, and one of Alistair's arms hung limp at his side. Leliana was paler than Rhianna had ever seen her before, and Daveth's leather armor had been pierced in at least one place where blood had begun to seep through. Rhianna had a gash in her shoulder, along with several smaller cuts and bruises. Even Morrigan and Wynne were spattered with blood, in spite of having fought from a distance with spells. Most of the townspeople who'd fought in the battle seemed to have survived, and they all nursed wounds, as well.

Now that the adrenaline had begun to wear off, it took nearly all of Rhianna's energy just to lift an arm to push an errant strand of hair out of her face.

Wynne appeared at Rhianna's side. "You should sit and rest. Allow me to heal your wounds."

"No." Rhianna shook her head. "Thank you, but I'm all right for the moment. Please see to the others first; it looks to me as though Daveth is in the greatest need."

"But you're the commander-"

"Exactly. I'm the one who sent the others into battle. That's why I'd like you to see to them first."

Wynne arched a brow. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. If I were dying, I would tell you. But I'm not. I can wait a while longer." She paused. "And make sure you take care of yourself, as well."

"As you wish." Wynne crossed the courtyard to where Daveth had propped himself up against a low stone wall.

Rhianna would take the first part of Wynne's advice, though, and sit. She forced her legs to carry her to the front of the Chantry, and lowered herself onto the steps in spite of the ache in her shoulder. Dane followed, and curled up at her feet. When she looked out over the courtyard, her vision blurred, so she rested her face in her hands.

The ground had been littered with corpses, dozens and dozens of ghouls that had been brought to life by some unholy power. Even though most of the people who fought in this recent battle had survived, it was sobering to remember that these monsters had once lived in the village themselves. Innocent people – villagers and soldiers - transformed into shambling horrors. Considering how many people had been gathered in the Chantry the previous day, and the small group of villagers who had fought with Rhianna and her companions, it seemed a majority of the people who had once lived in Redcliffe were now dead.

Was it the work of blood magic, just like at the Circle Tower? That seemed a convenient excuse, but in this case, what other explanation could there be? Morrigan had seemed to think that a demon had caused this. Was there any other way for demons to appear in this world except by being summoned by a mage?

There was movement beside her, as someone sat next to her on the step. She glanced up to see Teagan Guerrin.

"I hope you don't mind if I join you." He gave a warm smile, but there was tension in his jaw, and the lines around his eyes were etched more deeply than before. The night had not been easy on any of them.

"Of course I don't mind." She returned the smile; she was happy to see him. "We did it. We made it through the night."

"Yes. Thanks to you and your friends."

"And the people of this town. They fought bravely and well." She paused. "I am grateful it's over for now. I can't remember ever feeling quite this exhausted."

Rhianna leaned close and rested her head on Teagan's shoulder. He reached his arm around her, but she grunted and flinched away when his hand brushed against her wound.

"Ow."

"Maker's breath!" He sat up and leaned around to get a look at her shoulder. "I didn't realize you were injured, milady. Let me get bandages, and a poultice."

When he began to push himself up off of the stairs, Rhianna placed a gentle hand on his knee. "No, stay here. Please. I don't need a poultice. Wynne will be around to heal it, once she's tended to the others."

"But you must be in a great deal of pain. That looks . . . ugly."

"It's all right. It does hurt a little, but it's not as bad as it looks."

He arched a brow.

"All right," she chuckled. "It hurts more than a little. But I'll be all right, I promise. I'd much rather have your company just now, if you don't mind?"

"When you put it that way, how could I possibly mind?" He leaned back against one of the wooden struts that held up the Chantry's front awning. Then, taking care not to touch her wounded shoulder, he urged her to lean back against his body. She snuggled herself into his warmth, and closed her eyes. When he wrapped an arm around her waist, she took his hand and twined her fingers between his. In spite of her sore shoulder, she couldn't remember the last time she had felt this comfortable and safe and warm.

‹›‹O›‹›

A gentle hand on her shoulder shook her awake.

Rhianna's eyes fluttered open, and she blinked against a bright light. When her vision cleared, she looked up into Teagan's smiling face. The night had passed. Bright, vibrant sunlight bathed the courtyard, and her shoulder no longer ached. In fact, nothing hurt.

"Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes. I'm afraid we both did, a few hours ago. Well," he glanced up at the sky, "to be honest, I'm not sure how long ago. Only that it isn't dark anymore."

Rhianna yawned, and stretched her arms out in front of her. "I feel so much better." Wynne must have come by with healing while Rhianna was asleep. "Even a few hours of sleep is better than none."

"That much is true. And I would have let you sleep longer, but the Revered Mother wants to give a blessing for the people who died during the night. I think I'm supposed to say something, as well. So, you and I have been asked to vacate the Chantry steps, and I thought you might want to clean yourself up a bit. I feel a bit grubby, and I wasn't even in the battle, and you . . . well, let's just say I've never seen you in quite this much disarray, not even after the royal hunt." He winked.

"All right," she chuckled. "I supposed I could do with a wash." She rested her head against Teagan's shoulder for another minute, reluctant to pull herself away from the comfort of his arms. Then she took a deep breath, and sat up. "It will feel good to get some of this blood off ." She stood, and offered Teagan a hand in getting to his feet. "After the Revered Mother gives her benediction, what next?"

"I'd like to try and find out what's happening inside the castle. I have an idea for getting inside. Will you meet me at the windmill after Mother Hannah has spoken?"

"Of course."

‹›‹O›‹›

An hour later, after the Revered Mother had spoken to the woefully small number of people who were still alive to gather in front of the Chantry, Rhianna and her companions climbed the hill that led to the windmill. Everyone was in relatively good spirits, after having a few hours of rest and their wounds tended.

"This is a beautiful place," Wynne said, as they crossed the footbridge that spanned the river. She stopped, and looked out over the water below. "Standing here, you almost wouldn't know of the trouble down in the village."

Perhaps, but only if one ignored the tendrils of smoke from the pyres down below, and the accompanying odor. With the risk of the undead rising again at dusk, the ghouls had been gathered up and were being burned even now. Perhaps they could still find their way to the Maker's side or at least have the peace of Andraste's blessing.

When they reached the top, they found Teagan as promised, along with Ser Perth, and those soldiers who had survived the night.

Rhianna crossed the distance to join Teagan where he stood near the edge of the cliff. He took a slow breath, and looked up at the castle.

"Odd how quiet the castle looks from here," he murmured. "You would think there was nobody inside at all. Perhaps there isn't." He turned to Rhianna. "But we shouldn't delay things further, should we?"

"No, probably not. You said you had a plan for getting into the castle?"

"Yes." He glanced at the windmill. "There is a secret passage in the mill, known only to members of my family."

"What? A tunnel leads into the castle? Why didn't you tell me before? We could have gone in yesterday."

"I know." A creased formed across his brow. "And perhaps I should have said something sooner. Probably I should have. But I was afraid that if you chose to enter the castle first, we might not have been able to save the people in the village. It seemed best to deal with whatever came out of the castle last night, and start fresh today-" Something behind Rhianna caught his attention, and he drew in a breath. "Maker's blood!"

Rhianna turned to see a woman run toward them, a Redcliffe guard in her wake.

"Teagan!" She came to a stop in front of them. "Thank the Maker you're all right!"

"Isolde! You're alive!" Teagan grasped her shoulders in his hands.

So this was Isolde Guerrin, Eamon's Orlesian wife. She looked much younger than Eamon, although she had to be nearly fifty. Hadn't they married not long after the Occupation ended? She was pretty, with a straight nose and almond-shaped eyes, and reddish hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head. Her gown was clean, but creased as though she had slept in it.

"This is wonderful news," Teagan continued. "We've had no idea what happened inside the castle. No idea if anyone had survived those . . . creatures." He released his hold on the arlessa's shoulders. "What happened in there? And what of Connor, and Eamon?"

"I do not have time to explain!" Her speech was heavily accented, more so than Leliana's. "I slipped away from the castle as soon as I could, and I must return right away. And I need you to return with me, Teagan." She glanced at Rhianna, and the others who stood nearby. "Alone."

"Alone?" Teagan's brow creased.

"I don't think so," Rhianna said. She turned to Teagan. "We should stay together, and no one should go into the castle until we have a better idea of what is happening inside."

"Excuse me?" Isolde raised her chin, and looked down her nose at Rhianna, much like Habren Bryland had done so many times. A spark of anger flared in Rhianna's chest. Isolde turned back to Teagan. "Who is this woman, Teagan?"

"Isolde, please. This is Rhianna Cousland, and we owe her and her friends a great deal. Rhianna led the defense against the creatures that came out of the castle last night. Were it not for their help, I doubt anyone in the village would have survived the night. Including myself."

"You . . . you defended the village?" Her features smoothed, and the haughty look slid from her face. "Please forgive me. So much has happened, and in so short a time. I . . . I am sorry for my bad manners. Thank you, truly, for the assistance you have given to Redcliffe." Her eyes narrowed. "Did you say Cousland? Then you are Eleanor's daughter?"

"I am."

"She is a good woman." Isolde paused. "I think I remember meeting you once before, when you were just a baby."

Alistair took a step forward. "You remember me, don't you Lady Isolde?" He wore a broad smile, but there was something ugly in his tone. "You knew me when I was a baby, too."

"I'm sorry, but who . . . Oh. Alistair?" The frown returned to her face, and she stood straighter. "Of all the . . . Why are you here?" It sounded like an accusation.

"Yes, this is the warm welcome I expected. It's so good to be home."

Teagan put a hand on Isolde's shoulder, as though he wanted to shelter her from Alistair's looming presence. "Alistair and Rhianna are both Grey Wardens. It was just good fortune that they arrived in Redcliffe when they did." He paused. "And I agree with Rhianna. I would like to hear some explanation for all this before we decide what to do next. What in the world is happening in there?"

"I . . ." Her lower lip quivered. "I know you need more of an explanation, but I . . ." Isolde glanced over her shoulder toward the castle as she wrung her hands together. "I don't know what is safe to tell." Her voice was strained, and her eyes shone in the late morning sunlight. "There is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living. And I think . . . " Her voice cracked. "I think Connor is going mad. He has seen so much death!" Her shoulders heaved, and she took a gasping breath. "You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle. You could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!"

Rhianna's anger evaporated completely. This woman was suffering, terrified for herself and for her son. Although there was something strange in the way she had phrased her request. What call would there be to reason with a young boy? Wouldn't it be better to remove him from the situation, and act against whatever had caused this destruction?

"And what of my brother?" Teagan asked. "Is Eamon still alive?

"Yes," she replied. "He is being kept alive so far, thank the Maker."

"Kept alive?" Wynne took a step closer. "Kept alive . . . by whom?"

"I am not sure. By something the mage unleashed."

"Mage?" Rhianna frowned. "What mage?"

"A man who came here to tutor my son. Or at least that's why he said he was here, but he was an infiltrator, sent to poison my husband. That is why Eamon fell ill in the first place."

Teagan's eyes grew wide. "Eamon was poisoned?"

"Yes. The mage swears he has nothing to do with the horrors that took place afterward, but I do not believe him. There is something in the castle. Something that killed almost everyone, and turned their bodies into walking nightmares. Once it was done with the castle, it sent these creatures out to attack the village."

Isolde's eyes darted away from Teagan's face. There was something she wasn't saying. Something the arlessa was keeping back.

"It sounds like some sort of a demon," Morrigan said. "Perhaps one that has attacked your husband, and keeps him in the Fade."

"Maker's mercy!" Isolde swore, her eyes wide. "Could it truly be a demon? But why? And what does it want? So far, it allows Eamon, Connor and myself to live, but I do not know why." She turned back to Teagan. "It allowed me to leave the castle and find you, because I begged. Because I said Connor needed help."

Again, Isolde averted her gaze.

"Why do I get the feeling you aren't telling us everything?"

"I . . . I beg your pardon!" She whirled to face Rhianna. "That is a rather impertinent accusation!"

Rhianna held Isolde's gaze. "Not if it's true."

The arlessa's shoulder's sagged. "N-no. No, you are right to be suspicious. But I do not know what else to do. An evil I cannot fathom holds my son hostage. I came for help, but what if it decides I have betrayed it? It might kill him. He might already be dead." She was practically in tears now, and grasped Teagan's hands. "I do not have much time. Must I beg? Please, come back with me, please."

"What if we were all to come?" Rhianna asked. "Surely, more of us would have a better chance against this . . . against whatever it is that's taken over the castle."

"No." Isolde shook her head. "I cannot agree to that, for Connor's sake. I promised I would return quickly, and only with Teagan. I think because he is family, the thing has agreed for him to be here. Teagan, I know you could order your men to follow me when I return to the castle. But I beg you not to, for Connor's sake! I can't let it hurt my Connor! You must come back with me, alone! Please!"

Interesting that she only mentioned her fears for her son, and not her husband as well.

"All right." Teagan sighed. At Rhianna's arched brow, he added, "The king is dead and we need my brother now more than ever. And I could never forgive myself if something happened to my nephew and I did nothing to try and stop it. I will return to the castle with you, Isolde. Alone, as you have requested."

"Oh, thank the Maker! Bless you, Teagan! Bless you!"

"First, however," he added, "I must first confer with Lady Cousland. In private." To Rhianna, "If that is agreeable to you, milady?"

Rhianna nodded, and Isolde released Teagan's hands. "Please do not take too long! I will wait by the bridge."

As Isolde turned away, Teagan led the way to the windmill. When Rhianna stepped inside, she breathed in a comforting scent of hay and grain and flour. Teagan pushed the door shut behind them, and once again, rested his hands on Rhianna's shoulders. Shadows settled in the fine lines around his eyes.

"I thought it would be best if Isolde doesn't know I'm giving you the key to this entrance. It will bring you into the dungeons. With just a little bit of luck, whatever is terrorizing the castle won't notice, until it's too late. Perhaps I will be able to . . . distract whatever it is, and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. Assuming it's not already too late."

"You really intend to go with her? Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"I'm quite sure it isn't. But what choice do I have? I cannot force Isolde to return alone. You heard her. She's desperate. And if I go with her, there may be something I can do to help Connor or Eamon. I have to do this. This is my family."

"Are you sure you can trust her?" Rhianna bit her bottom lip. "I . . . please don't take this the wrong way, but you know what Isolde said about Eamon being poisoned? That wasn't the first time I'd heard that story. In fact, I'd heard it twice before, but in both cases, Isolde was the one accused of poisoning him. And I couldn't help but notice that she only talked about Connor, as though she wasn't worried about Eamon at all." She paused. "Look, I'm not saying I believe she poisoned her husband, just that maybe it's something to consider? And if you go in there by yourself, and she's the one doing all this . . .?"

"No." Teagan's voice was firm. "I cannot believe Isolde could be the cause of this." He paused. "It is true that her and Eamon . . . well, their marriage has not been easy, over the years. But my sister-in-law is a good woman. She might wish things were different, but she wouldn't try to murder my brother, and she does genuinely care for the people of this village. More than that, she is utterly devoted to her son, and would never do anything that might harm him. I've known her for many years, and I do trust her. I promise, whatever is happening in there, she isn't trying to set some sort of a trap for me."

"Fair enough." She let out a breath. "Then I'll come in through the dungeons, along with those of my companions I can convince to come with me."

"Bless you, Rhianna. You are brave, as well as beautiful." Something fluttered inside of her at those words.

Teagan pulled off one of his gauntlets, and removed a ring from his finger. "Here is my signet ring. It will open the lock on a trap door hidden under the hay just there." He gestured with his head. "Ser Perth and his men can watch for danger at the castle entrance. If you can open the gates from within, they can move in and help you, if it seems safe to do so."

Rhianna took the ring, and removed one of her own gauntlets so she could slip it onto her index finger. "I'll do whatever I can."

"I know you will. Whatever happens, remember that Connor is the priority here. And Isolde, and Eamon, of course. Don't worry about me; I'm expendable."

She drew in a sharp breath. "Expendable?" Rhianna took his ungloved hand in her own and held his gaze. "No. You are not expendable, Teagan Guerrin. Don't you dare say a thing like that, and don't you dare do anything stupid to put yourself in unnecessary danger. You wait for me to get there. I will find you, and we will stop this, together. I couldn't save my family, but I will help you save yours. I swear it."

"You . . . You are . . . a . . . remarkable woman." Teagan's fingers tightened around hers, and something in his gaze softened. "If only circumstances had been different . . ." He stared into her eyes, and then tugged on her hand to pull her closer. When he leaned down, his breath warmed her cheek, and then he pressed his lips to hers.

Again, something fluttered inside of her, but before she had time to respond, he pulled away again.

"I . . . Maker's breath," he breathed. "I am sorry, milady. I . . . I am far too bold, and this is hardly the time for such things-"

Rhianna rested a finger across his lips, and he stopped mid-sentence.

"Do you," she murmured, ". . . do you want to kiss me?" 

"Yes." His breath quickened. "I would like that . . . very much."

An ache of desire bloomed in her chest. Teagan wanted to kiss her. A man who was handsome, and kind, someone she'd know for years, and trusted. It had felt so good when she rested in his arms after the battle. And she'd been so afraid, and so lonely for such a long time. In a rush, she was hit by a longing to be in this man's arms. To feel his warmth surround her. To feel something other than fear and anger and dread, even for just a few minutes.

He wanted to kiss her, and she wanted him to.

She traced his bottom lip with her finger, and her gaze dropped to his lips. "Then perhaps you should do it properly."

One corner of his mouth curved up in a smile. "Should I?"

"Yes."

He leaned closer, and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her eyes fluttered closed as he lowered his head and caught her lips with his own. She leaned into the embrace as he began to kiss her so tenderly it made her heart ache.

Yes. Oh, yes.

She snaked her arms around his neck, and pressed her body against his as she returned the kiss. His hand tightened around her waist as the other cradled one side of her face, and it was perfect. He was warm, and his beard tickled her chin, and her heart began to beat faster. She slid her tongue across his lip, and he wound his fingers in her hair as he kissed her more deeply. All thoughts left her head, and there was nothing but Teagan - the taste of him, the feel of his hair in her hands, the desire that crept throughout her body as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

When they pulled apart, his eyes shone with warmth. "That was . . ." He let out a ragged breath. "Oh, Rhianna. I swear, this was not my intention when I asked you to come in here with me, but I find myself unable to regret it. You are . . . perfect. Thank you."

"You're thanking me?" A smile burst across her face. "I should thank you. I didn't expect this either, but I'm very, very glad it happened."

"As am I." He cradled her cheek in his palm, and his smile faltered. "But I should go. Isolde is waiting, and every minute we linger here, the evening comes closer, along with more of those creatures if we can't get to the bottom of this before night falls."

"Of course." Once again, her bare hand found his. "I will make it into the castle. I will find you, and we'll stop whatever this thing is, before it's too late. I promise."

"I believe you will." He pressed his lips to hers again. "The Maker smiled on me, indeed, when He sent you to Redcliffe."

Side by side, they left the windmill, and returned to where Rhianna's companions waited.

"Thank you, my lady." Again, Teagan rested his hands on her shoulders. "For everything. I hope to see you again soon."

"I'm sure you will. I'm sure of it."

She ran her fingers along the line of his jaw, not caring that half of Redcliffe, and Rhianna's companions, stood just a few yards away, watching.

Apparently, Teagan didn't care, either. He leaned close, and gave her one more brief kiss on the lips.

When he pulled away, fear shot through her, sharp and hot. She clutched at his arm. "Don't die in there, Teagan. Please."

"I won't," he murmured. "I'll be waiting for you when you arrive. I swear it." He ran the back of his fingers down the side of her cheek, then turned and walked away without looking back. When he reached Isolde, the arlessa put her hand on Teagan's arm, and the two of them made their way up the road that led to the castle.

Rhianna struggled to catch her breath, as her vision swam with sudden tears. What in the world had just happened? Had she really kissed Teagan Guerrin? Yes, she had, and it had been wonderful, but she didn't have the luxury of thinking about any of that right now. She watched him walk away, into a castle filled with unknown horrors, and for all their brave talk she knew it was possible she would never see him again, alive. And now, she needed to gather everyone together, and convince them to come with her into that horror-filled castle.

She walked to the cliff's edge and looked out at the lake below as she waited for her breath to return to normal.

Someone came up beside her, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure it was a good idea to send him in alone with that woman," Leliana asked. "It seems so dangerous."

Rhianna met Leliana's gaze. "I don't like it any more than you do, but Teagan insisted. I do understand why; that's his family in there. But it's not over, not yet. There's another way into the castle, and I intend to go in and see what I can do to help." She paused. "And I hope very much I can convince you, and the others to come with me."

"You know I will come," she replied with an earnest smile. "And I suspect everyone else will agree, as well. We've come this far; it seems only right that we should see this all the way through."

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Amanda Kitswell, Psyche Sinclair, Kevin, and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, Yarnandtea, Irish_Changeling, Kenedii, and Papercutpeterson.


	33. Humans are such strange creatures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions enter Redcliffe Castle.

__**4 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Redcliffe Castle** _ __**  
**

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Rhianna peered through the trap door at a flight of stone steps that spiraled down into darkness. The warmth and lingering pleasure from the kiss she and Teagan had shared evaporated completely, and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead and the palms of her hands.

Her companions had all readily agreed to enter the castle – even Sten seemed not to mind this detour - and Teagan's signet ring had unlocked the hidden door as promised. Now, all that remained was to follow the passage. But as she stared into that darkness, she couldn't bring herself to take the first step.

It was so dark, too dark to see how far down the stairs reached. She took a deep breath, and glanced back at her companions.

"We're going to need a torch."

"Never mind a torch." Morrigan stepped forward, and held her staff aloft. She murmured soft words, and the tip of the staff began to glow with a bluish light. "Will this suffice?"

It was an eerie light; not warm and comfortable as torchlight would have been, but it certainly was convenient.

"Yes, thank you."

With Morrigan right behind, Rhianna led the way down the narrow stairs.

When Sten closed the trap door behind him, the rhythmic sounds of the windmill were silenced, replaced by the hollow echo of footfalls on the stone. The air was cool and clammy, like cold fingers that wrapped themselves around Rhianna's arms, and the back of her neck. As they descended, the walls were patterned with moss that glistened faintly in the cold light from Morrigan's staff, and Rhianna forced herself to breathe slowly, to fight back the panic that made her heart race at being in such a tight, cramped space.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they made their way through a dank tunnel that sloped gently downward. Now, water dripped from somewhere above, and the sound echoed against the stone.

Maker. Did this tunnel run underneath Lake Calenhad? Almost certainly, it did. Her heart beat even faster. So much water, just above her head . . .

She tried to push that thought away.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

The sound echoed relentlessly, somehow louder than the footsteps of her companions on the stone floor.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

The last time she'd heard a sound like that, the echo of water off cold stone, she'd been locked away in the dark.

Her breath came faster.

This wasn't like that day, not at all. It just wasn't. Rhianna wasn't eight years old, and she wasn't alone, and there was a light . . .

But what if Morrigan tripped, and the spell was disrupted? There was nothing but darkness in front of them, outside the circle of the staff's light. She glanced back; nothing but darkness in that direction, either.

Of course there was no light. What did she expect? They were underneath Lake Calenhad.

What if the weight of the water overhead was too much, and it broke through and swept them away into the darkness? Or what if the tunnel collapsed and they were trapped down here, with no way to get out again? If they never arrived at the castle, would Teagan think to look down here for them, or would he assume they'd just decided against coming?

What if Teagan was already dead? No one else in the world knew they were down here. No one would ever come looking . . .

At her side, Dane gave a low whine, and bumped his face against her hand. A gesture of comfort. 

She was grateful for his presence, but even so she began to shiver. It was cold down here. So cold. And damp. And there was no light at all except the steady, pale glow from Morrigan's staff. Rhianna glanced at her hands; the skin looked sickly and vaguely blue, not unlike the creatures they'd fought the night before. Her companions looked like corpses, as well, the color completely drained from their faces.

Oh, why hadn't she insisted on a real torch? Torchlight was warm, and flickered with life. An actual flame would have been such a comfort-

"So." Alistair's voice rang out, and Rhianna's breath caught in her throat. "Sten." He paused. "You know, you never did tell me how you passed the time in that cage for so long."

Rhianna let out the breath.

"No," Sten droned. "I didn't."

"Well?"

Silence.

"Well," Alistair repeated, a bit more loudly. "What  _did_  you do in there?"

Sten made a soft noise that sounded like an unhappy release of breath. "If you must know . . . I performed a training exercise."

"Ooh! What sort of exercise?"

"I would observe an object and then try to think of all the words in your language that began with the same letter as its name."

"That sounds . . . wait a minute." The disbelief was apparent in Alistair's tone. "You're joking again, aren't you?"

"No. I am not."

"You must be joking," Alistair insisted. "You can't possibly expect me to believe that you played 'I Spy' against yourself for twenty days."

"There were a lot of things in Lothering that begin with the letter G."

"Maker's breath!" Alistair laughed, loudly. "Now I've heard everything."

The tunnel began to slope upward again; with any luck, they would be through it, and out from under the lake, in a matter of minutes.

"Hmnh." Alistair, again. "I spy with my little eye, something that begins with . . . G."

"Alistair?" Leliana sounded dismayed. "You can't expect anyone to play this game with you in here. We are in a dark tunnel, beneath a lake. There is nothing but bare stone."

"Obviously," Alistair quipped, "you suffer from a lack of imagination." He chuckled. "Come on. I spy with my little eye something that begins with G."

"Is it a Grey Warden?" Sten sounded resigned. "Is it, in fact, you?"

"Oooh." Alistair sounded pleased. "You're really good at this."

Maker's blood.

"I think we're coming to the end," Daveth murmured, "Perhaps we should keep our voices down. Best not to warn anything that might lurk up ahead that we're here."

Sensible advice, although Alistair's conversation had been a distraction from the horrible, dark tunnel. For a few minutes, at least.

Daveth was right; they had reached the far end. Here, the way was blocked by a heavy wooden door with an ancient, rusted lock, but Rhianna made quick work of it with her lock picks.

As it swung open, the door gave a rasping groan as if in protest, and they emerged into the dungeon of the castle.

They were under the castle now, no longer under the lake. Somewhere not too far above, was the open sky.

Yes. This was better. Some of the weight she'd been carrying lifted, and her breathing began to slow. She still couldn't wait to get upstairs, into the castle proper, or better still out into the courtyard. Into the daylight.

But this was better.

They entered a dark stone passageway lined with iron-barred cells. Any torches that might have once been lit had burned out long ago, so Morrigan's staff was still the only source of light.

"I remember this place." Alistair's voice was strangely cheerful. "I locked myself in one of these cages once when I was a child. It was an entire day before someone heard me shouting, and came to let me out. Ahh . . . good times!" There was no sarcasm, as though Alistair genuinely considered this a happy memory.

Rhianna shuddered. "I was locked away once, too, in a place not unlike this. The dungeon of an abandoned guard tower."

"A guard tower, huh?" Alistair chuckled. "I was hiding so I wouldn't have to do my chores. Worked like a charm, actually. Except for the part where I was really, really hungry by the time anyone thought to come looking for me. What were you after in the guard tower?"

"Kittens."

"What?" Leliana sounded confused. "Why would you look for kittens in an abandoned tower?"

Oh. Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned anything. Did she really want to talk about this - to  _think_  about this - right now? It was a bit late for that now, though, and besides, it was all right. Surely, they'd be out of the dungeon in just a few minutes.

"Someone left a note in my back garden, in Denerim. It said there was a litter of kittens whose mother had died, and told me where to find them. But it was a trap; the note was meant to trick me into going to down there. There was only one kitten, and he'd been injured by whoever left the note, and as soon as I went in the cell, someone slammed the door behind me, and locked it, and left me alone in the dark."

"A trap?" Alistair frowned. "How long did they leave you down there?"

"I don't think they intended for me to ever get out again. Not alive, anyway." She bit her bottom lip. "I'm not sure how long I was down there, though. Most of a day."

"How old were you?" Leliana asked.

"Eight."

"Hang on." Daveth put a hand on Rhianna's arm. "You mean to tell us that someone tricked you into going into a dungeon, and locked you away in the dark? When you were only eight years old?"

"Yes."

"Maker's blood." Daveth shook his head. "Who would do a thing like that, to a child?"

"I don't know. We never found out who did it." Rhianna shrugged. "I know my father tried to find out, but nobody saw anything, and I guess there weren't any clues left behind."

"How did you get out?" Daveth asked. "Were you able to pick the lock?"

"No." Rhianna shook her head. "I didn't know anything about picking locks back then. It's the reason I taught myself, later." She took a deep breath. "It was Loghain who saved me. Once my mother realized I was missing, she got word out, and half of Denerim was looking for me. Loghain was the one who found me, who rescued me. I would have died otherwise, from the damp and the cold."

"If it was even a rescue," Alistair muttered.

"What?" Rhianna stopped walking, and turned to face him.

His eyes grew wide. "I, uh . . . well, how can you be sure it was really a rescue?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, this is Loghain we're talking about." Alistair's lip curled. "It wouldn't surprise me if he were the one who locked you away in the first place."

Rhianna froze in place, too stunned to even speak. The mere suggestion that Loghain could have had anything to do with something so horrible . . .

Daveth drew himself up to his full height, managing to tower over Alistair in spite of his thin frame. "Didn't you listen to a word I said yesterday? You need to keep opinions like that to yourself."

"I don't have to do what you tell me to do," Alistair sneered. "You know that, right?"

"I can be more persuasive, if that's what it takes." Daveth's hands tightened into fists.

"No." Rhianna rested a trembling hand on Daveth's arm. "It's all right." Everything inside of her felt brittle and ready to shatter, but she had to say . . . something. "It's clear that nothing either of us say will change his mind." She turned to Alistair. "But there's something I need you to know." Her voice shook, but she forced herself to continue. "Apart from my family, Loghain Mac Tir has done more for me than anyone else in the whole world. Loghain saved my life when he carried me out of that tower, and afterwards, he taught me to fight, so I'd never feel helpless like that again. He defended me against poachers and assassins. He nearly beat a man to death for trying to rape me. He nursed me to back health when I fell ill with the plague, he . . ." She took a shuddering breath. "He held me while I screamed in pain, covered in oozing black sores and blood, and he risked his own life to do so."

She stood straighter, and held Alistair's gaze. "So every time you curse him, every time you feel the need to blame him for all the world's many wrongs, just remember this: if it weren't for Loghain Mac Tir, I would be dead."

Without waiting to see how he would respond, Rhianna turned and continued down the hallway, with Daveth close behind.

‹›‹O›‹›

It wasn't long before they encountered the first signs that things were as wrong inside the castle as they had been in the village. In a storage chamber, three undead creatures pulled themselves up off of the floor - apparently drawn by the sounds or the scents of the living - and viciously attacked.

Fortunately, these ghouls were as easy to kill as the ones the night before, and within minutes, they'd been dispatched.

The companions made their way deeper into the castle, past rows and rows of cells. Rhianna peered inside each of them as she walked past, but saw nothing besides moldering hay and the occasional rat.

"Hello?" A voice echoed in the stone hallway, from one of the cells up ahead. "Who's there? Is there anyone alive out there?"

With a glance at the others, Rhianna approached the cell. Inside, there was a man in scholar's robes whose face looked vaguely familiar.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "You don't look like the arlessa's guards. Are you . . . did you come from outside the castle?"

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "We've just come in through a tunnel under the lake. Who are you, and what are you doing locked away down here?"

"My name is Jowan. I'm . . . I . . . well, I was hired by Arlessa Isolde to tutor her son. Until they . . . ah . . . threw me into the dungeon."

Jowan? That's why he looked familiar. This was the man who had been Solona's friend at the Circle. The one who destroyed his phylactery and used blood magic to escape. But how in the world had he ended up in the dungeon of Redcliffe Castle?

"Jowan?" Wynne stepped close. "What in the Maker's name?  _You_  are the boy's tutor? You're the one who caused all this destruction? The one who raised these corpses from the dead?"

"No!" Panic laced his voice. "No, Wynne. I swear it. I didn't do any of those things!" He paused. "Well, I did poison the arl. That much is true. But I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle, I swear it!"

"How do you expect me to believe that?" Wynne crossed her arms in front of her chest. "First, you involved yourself with blood magic and escaped from the Circle, leaving nothing but chaos in your wake. And now this? Where did you even learn to do such magic? Necromancy is forbidden, and for good reason!"

"Necromancy? No, you've got it all wrong. It's not what you think! I don't know anything about the creatures. Not anything at all!"

Alistair peered into the cell. "Then why are you locked up in the dungeon?"

"When Lady Isolde came to me, demanding that I reverse what I'd done, I thought she meant poison of the arl. That's the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I'd summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe, but I didn't! I don't know anything about any demon. I told her this, again and again, but there was nothing I could do or say to appease her. She had me locked up down here, and left me to rot."

"You really do not know anything about these creatures?" Morrigan asked. "It seems to me that a mage such as yourself is the most likely explanation for demons or spirits roaming loose in the castle."

"I know how it looks, but you have to believe me. If I had done this - if I knew how to undo it - don't you think I would do anything in my power to make things right again?"

"What I don't understand," Daveth said, "is why the arlessa would hire a mage to tutor her son."

Jowan shrugged. "The boy had started to show . . . signs. Of magic. Lady Isolde is a pious woman. Her son having magic was humiliating. And of course, for a family like the Guerrins, it was even more of a tragedy. A mage can't inherit a title, not even the son of a powerful arl. Her husband had no idea of their son's abilities, and the arlessa was adamant that he never find out. She said she wasn't sure what he would do if he knew, and she was afraid for Connor. And, more than anything, she was terrified the Circle of Magi would take the boy away for training, and she didn't want to lose him forever. So, she wanted an apostate to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his abilities. That's where I came in."

"Connor Guerrin is a mage?" Rhianna paused. "Then perhaps the boy is responsible for what happened."

"That's what I think, too," Jowan replied. "Even with only a little knowledge of magic, he might have done something to tear open the Veil."

"And with the Veil to the Fade torn," Morrigan mused aloud, "spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. A powerful demon could easily kill any number of people, and create walking corpses like the ones we fought last night."

"Exactly," Jowan agreed. "But Lady Isolde wasn't willing to consider that theory at all."

"How much magic did you teach Connor?" Wynne asked.

"Not much. He's still very young. He can barely cast a minor spell . . . never mind something more powerful. At least, not intentionally. If it really was Connor who did this, it must have happened by accident. Or maybe it wasn't Connor at all. I really don't know. All I know is that I never meant for any of this to happen, I swear. Let me help you fix this."

"You want to help?" Rhianna asked. "How?"

"I . . . well, I don't know. But there must be something I can do."

"You want us to let you out of that cell?" Wynne arched a brow. "I don't think so. A blood mage? How can you expect us to trust even a single word that comes out of your mouth?"

Wynne had a good point, but he had been Solona's friend. Hadn't Solona said he'd only turned to blood magic because he was afraid of being made tranquil? And the thought of leaving anyone locked up down here, in this dank darkness, turned Rhianna's stomach.

"Do you want to come with us?" she asked. "Help us fight?"

"Fight?" His nose wrinkled. "I don't know about fighting. Maybe I should just stay down here, for the time being?"

It was hard to see how he intended to 'help' from down here in this cell, but regardless of his intentions, this was one complication Rhianna didn't need just now.

"All right. You can stay locked up in here for now. If you've survived this long, you ought to be safe for a little while longer. Once we have a better idea what is happening upstairs, we'll come back for you."

"That's . . . yeah, that's fine with me," Jowan said haltingly. "Just don't forget I'm down here, all right?"

Rhianna arched a brow at him. It was highly unlikely anyone would forget about Jowan, considering it was possible that he was responsible for this in some way. If nothing else, what had he said? He had  _poisoned_  Eamon?

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about that, but instead she handed him a couple of torches so he wouldn't have to remain in the dark, and then led the way out of the dungeons. There would be time for more questions later. Right now, she needed to find Teagan and Isolde and Connor, and stop whatever it was that had caused all this mayhem.

‹›‹O›‹›

Upstairs, in the great hall, they walked in on a scene that was nothing Rhianna could ever have imagined.

At the far end of the room, Arlessa Isolde stood beside a child of about nine years old: Connor Guerrin, no doubt. A few guards stood at attention nearby, but the thing that stopped Rhianna in her tracks before she'd even passed all the way through the doorway, was Teagan.

The Bann of Rainesfere was in the center of the room doing . . . well, it wasn't entirely clear what he was doing. It looked like . . . acrobatics. Cartwheels and flips and somersaults, and Connor jumped and clapped with excitement as he watched the spectacle. There was something grotesque and horrible about it, as though Teagan wasn't acting under his own power.

Something was very wrong here, but at least it seemed all of the family was still alive.

After he ended with a flourish of his hands, Teagan walked back to where Isolde and her son waited. His movements were awkward, like a marionette being dragged inexpertly across a stage, as he stumbled to sit beside Connor.

Rhianna, with the others close behind, strode into the room. Whatever was happening, they would end it right here, right now.

Connor turned his gaze on the newcomers. He was about Oren's height, and wore his hair in the same style.

"So these are our visitors? The ones you told me about, Mother?"

The words that left his lips sounded nothing at all like a child. The voice was deep, like that of a grown man, and there was an echo behind it - something that whispered, and rumbled, and sent a tingle down Rhianna's spine.

"It appears," Morrigan murmured, "that the arl's son has become an abomination."

Isolde's posture was hunched and wary. "Y-yes, Connor," she stuttered.

"And this is the one who defeated my soldiers?" His eyes narrowed as he peered at Rhianna. "The ones I sent to reclaim my village?" He took a step closer. "And now it's staring at me! What is it, Mother? I can't see it well enough."

"This . . . this is a woman, Connor." Isolde's voice shook. "Just as I am . . ."

"Just as you are? Hah! This woman is nothing at all like you! Why, just look at her! Half your age and pretty, too. I'm surprised you don't order her executed in a fit of jealousy!"

Isolde took a step toward her son. "C-Connor, I beg you. Don't hurt anyone!"

The boy bent over and held his head, as if it ached. "M-Mother? What . . . what's happening?" The voice sounded normal now, no longer corrupted. He sounded so young, so scared. Like Oren must have felt, at the end. "Where am I?"

"Oh, thank the Maker!" Isolde dropped to her knees and pulled the boy into her arms. "Connor! Connor, can you hear me?"

Connor flinched back out of Isolde's grasp. "Get away from me, fool woman! You are beginning to bore me."

Rhianna took a step forward, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"Lady Cousland, no!" Isolde cried out. "Please don't hurt my son! He's not responsible for what he does!"

Maker's blood. Connor had been the cause of . . . everything. And Isolde knew. She must have known all along.

Apparently, Wynne had come to the same conclusion. "Your son is the evil force you spoke of? And you've been protecting him all this time?"

"No!" She exclaimed. "No, please, don't say that! Connor is not evil. He didn't mean to do this! It was Jowan, the mage who poisoned Eamon. He started all this! He must have summoned this demon! Connor was just trying to help his father!"

"It was a fair deal!" The demon's voice boomed from Connor's lips. "Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now it's my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do anymore!"

"Nobody tells him what to do!" Teagan's voice sounded clownish and hollow. "Nobody! Ha ha!"

The demon spun around. "Quiet, Uncle. I warned you what would happen if you kept shouting, didn't I? Yes, I did."

"What have you done with him?" Rhianna asked. "What have you done with Teagan?"

"Here I am," Teagan shouted. "Here am I! Ha hahahaha!"

The demon chuckled. "Just a little improvement. He was in such a bad mood when he arrived with Mother. It was very boring. I like him better this way. No more yelling. Now he amuses me! But enough of such trivial matters. This woman will have the audience she seeks. Tell us, woman . . . what have you come here for?"

Was there any chance of reasoning with this creature? Perhaps there was . . . after all, the desire demon in the Circle had been more than happy to talk. Telling the truth might be worth a try.

"I came here to speak to your father. To Arl Eamon."

"Oh," it crooned. "So, you're a concerned well-wisher. Why didn't you say so in the first place? All this sneaking around and killing is so unnecessary." He paused. "But Father is so very ill. We really shouldn't disturb him. Isn't that right, Mother?"

"I . . . I don't think . . ."

"Of course you don't!" the demon snapped. "When have you ever had a single useful thought in that head of yours? Ever since you sent the knights away, you do nothing but deprive me of my fun. It's gotten dull here in the castle. I crave excitement, and action!" Again, he leveled his gaze on Rhianna. "This woman spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village, and now she'll repay me in kind!"

The boy raised his arms in the air, and waved them as if to cast a spell. Oh, Maker. Did he intend to transform himself, as Uldred had done?

Rhianna drew her weapons, and her companions did the same, but no transformation came. Instead, Teagan sprang to his feet and, drawing his sword with a guttural growl, charged at her. The guards stationed around the room did the same, all under the demon's control.

"Disable them, only!" Rhianna shouted. "No lethal force!"

Teagan swung his sword at her, but his movements were clumsy, and his face looked pale and slack. With a single smooth sweep of her sword, she knocked the weapon from his hands, and kicked it away across the floor. As he ran at her again, she dodged to the side, and brought one of her feet up behind the crook of his knee. She knocked his feet out from under him, and he fell to the floor. From the ground, he clawed at her legs and attempted to pull himself back up onto his feet. Rhianna struck him on the side of the head with the pommel of her sword, just hard enough to knock him unconscious without doing any permanent damage.

Soon, the rest of the guards had been similarly incapacitated. With a deep breath to calm herself, Rhianna looked for the boy. Connor was nowhere to be seen, nor was there a sign of any demon.

At her feet, Teagan groaned, and shifted. Rhianna readied herself to hit him again if necessary, but he no longer tried to fight. Instead, he rubbed at his head. "Rhianna?"

"Teagan!" Rhianna dropped to her knees beside him and helped him to sit. "Teagan, are you all right?"

"I am . . . better now, I think." He ran a hand through his hair. "My mind is my own again, at any rate." He touched the spot where Rhianna had knocked him in the head. "Although my head is sore in a place it wasn't before. I assume you had something to do with that?" He smiled weakly.

"Guilty as charged." She stood, and offered him a hand to help him to his feet. "I apologize for that."

"Don't. I might still be under the thrall of that . . . thing, if you hadn't."

"Teagan!" Isolde hurried across the room. "Thank the Maker you were not killed. I would never have forgiven myself if something happened to you, not after I brought you here." She sobbed, once. "What a fool I have been!"

"Yes. You have." Teagan's voice was harsh and ragged, something Rhianna had never heard from him before. "You knew about this all along?"

"Yes, I did." She flinched away from his angry stare. "I'm sorry. I did know, but I didn't tell you because I believed we could help him. I still believe it." She clutched at his arm. "He is not always the demon you saw. Connor is still inside, and sometimes he breaks through. You heard him, didn't you? Please, I just want to protect him!"

"Isn't that what started this?" Teagan's expression was hard, but some of the anger had left his voice. "You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret."

"Yes, but only to protect him! If anyone found out Connor had magic, the templars would take him away! I could not lose my son like that. Not to . . . to magic! I thought if he learned just enough to hide it, then everything would be all right. No one would ever have to know."

"But you didn't protect him, Isolde. Look at him. He's possessed by a demon. You've brought doom upon us all, and death to your own son!"

"No!" She sobbed, and clung more tightly to Teagan's arm. "No, please don't say that. There must be another way. There must be something we can do!"

Teagan shrugged Isolde's hand away. "Connor is my nephew, and I love him. But he is possessed by a demon." His voice caught in his throat. "Death would be . . . merciful."

"Please." Rhianna put a gentle hand on his arm. "Please, let's not talk about killing anyone. Not yet." Especially not this little boy, a little boy who couldn't possibly have done anything to deserve death.

Isolde turned to Rhianna, her eyes bright with tears. "Thank you. Please, help me. Just tell me what to do. I'll do anything to save him." A tear escaped her eye, and began to crawl down her cheek.

Rhianna turned to Wynne. "Do you have any idea how all this happened? How the demon could have gotten here? What Connor might have done to summon it?"

"There are a few ways this could have happened," the mage replied, "but the most likely is a Rite of Wish Fulfillment. It's a common spell, and relatively easy to cast. If Jowan kept any spell books here, the boy might have found instructions for how to do it."

"Wish fulfillment?" Rhianna chewed at her bottom lip. "Perhaps to save his father." She let out a breath. "Is there any way to reverse the spell?"

"Unfortunately . . . destroying the demon is the only way I know of to undo that sort of magic."

"And just what does that involve?" Teagan asked.

Judging by Wynne's grim expression, it seemed doubtful any of them would like the answer.

"The easiest way to do it . . ." She paused, and let out a ragged breath. "I'm afraid that killing the boy is the easiest way to do it."

"No," Isolde gasped. "Please, no."

"The easiest way?" Leliana stepped forward. "But that must mean there are other ways, too?"

"Not any other way I am capable of performing," Wynne said.

Rhianna thought back to the desire demon they'd met at the Circle. "What if the demon left the boy willingly?"

Wynne scoffed. "There's no chance of that. Demons do not just give up their hosts without a fight."

"Perhaps not . . . but . . ." Best not to say what she had in mind. Wynne would likely disapprove, as would the others.

Alistair stepped forward. "I wouldn't normally suggest slaying a child, but he's an abomination. I'm not sure there's any other choice."

"No!" Isolde shouted. "There must be another way. What about the mage? If he still lives, perhaps he knows something of this demon, and could help."

Rhianna turned to Teagan. "Jowan is alive, down in the dungeon. Why don't you go get him and bring him upstairs? Perhaps there's something he can do to help. In the meantime, I'm going to go try and speak with Connor. If the demon really has retreated for the time being, perhaps he can tell me something that will be of use." To Isolde, "Do you know where he is?"

"I think . . . I think he ran upstairs, to the family quarters. Violence . . . scares him. Oh, I don't know. All I know is that he ran, up to his room perhaps."

"All right. I'm going to try and find him. Daveth? Will you come with me?"

"Of course."

As Wynne set about healing the wounded, and the others helped to right the furniture that had been knocked over, Rhianna and Daveth, with Dane trotting along behind, made their way upstairs through the eerily quiet house.

They found Connor in what appeared to be the hallway outside the master bedroom. The boy stood in the doorway, as though he wanted to enter and be closer to his father, but didn't dare.

"Connor?" Rhianna approached him slowly, so as not to frighten him, nor alert the demon inside. Not just yet.

He turned, his eyes wide. "Go away! She won't like you being here. She'll just try to hurt you!"

"It's all right." Rhianna stopped moving forward. "I won't come any closer unless you say I can." She paused. "My name is Rhianna, and I want to help you. Do you understand? It is you, Connor, isn't it? Talking to me?"

"Yes, it's me. I'm always here, except when the scary lady takes over. Then I feel like I'm sleeping, but I guess I'm not."

"That must be horrible for you. Frightening."

"Yes." His voice cracked.

"Do you know how all this happened? How it started?"

"I . . ." He stopped, and gulped for breath. "After Father became ill, I snuck into Jowan's room. I found his books, the ones he wouldn't let me read. I just wanted to help Father. I shouldn't have, I guess, but I was so scared and sad, and he was so sick. So, I cast one of the spells out of the book. It wasn't one Jowan had taught me, but I thought I could do it. Only then the scary lady started talking to me. In my sleep, at first. I heard her in my dreams, and then she was everywhere. And when I woke up, I'd have done things I didn't remember." He sobbed. "This is all my fault, isn't it?"

"It's not your fault," Rhianna soothed. "You were just trying to help. Is there anything else you can tell me about her?"

"She . . . well, she was nice at first. Even now, sometimes she's nice. Until something makes her angry, and then she's very mean. I tried to stop her, but I can't. She said she'd help Father, and she did . . . in a way. She told me that he was going to die, but that she could keep him alive. Even if she couldn't wake him up, having him alive and asleep was better than having him die. So I told her I would do what she wanted, if she would just save his life. I didn't think she'd hurt everyone else, honestly I didn't. But now, you have to leave, or she'll hurt you, too. She's a . . . bad person. She wants to hurt you. She likes to hurt people and it scares me."

"I'm not afraid of being hurt."

"I know. That's what the scary lady said. I don't know how she knows, but I think she's afraid of you. She said you came here to help Father, but that if you stay, you'll ruin everything. I can't hear her now, but she's never very far away. She's always watching, and she'll come back sooner or later, and she'll kill you. Please, just go."

"Not yet. I want you to do me a favor, Connor. I want you to see if you can find her. And tell her that I would like to speak with her again."

"No!" He shook his head violently. "You can't! She'll hurt you. She hurts everyone!"

"Like I said, I'm not afraid of being hurt. I'm stronger than she is. I promise. Now, please. Won't you tell her I want to talk to her? Please."

"A-all . . . all right." The boy fell silent and closed his eyes.

"Rhianna?" Daveth stepped close. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I'm absolutely sure that I don't," she murmured. "That's why I asked you to come. If something bad happens, if I turn into some sort of . . . monster, you must promise to stop me before I hurt anyone. All right?"

"You want me to . . . what? No!"

"Please, Daveth." She took one of his hands. "Please. With any luck, this will give the rest of you time to figure out how to get rid of this demon, without having to kill anyone. And if not . . . well, remember the templar at the Circle? How happy he was? If that's the worst that happens to me, it will have been worth it, to know Connor's life was saved. Just . . . please. Don't let things get out of hand."

He stared into her eyes, and his shoulders sagged. "All right. But I don't like this."

"Thank you."

Rhianna moved closer to Connor, within arm's reach of the boy for the first time.

His eyes snapped open. "What do you want?" The voice was dark and corrupted. "You've given me nothing but trouble. Just go away."

"I'll go, if that's what you want. But first, I want to talk to you." She paused. "I have an offer to make."

"What sort of 'offer?'"

"I want you to leave the boy."

"And why would I do that? Being here with him makes me happy. We made a bargain, he and I, and I have kept my end."

"I know that, but he's just a child. He didn't know what he was doing when he invited you here, and now you're hurting him and the people he loves." She paused. "But I'm not a child. I can make this decision willingly. So leave the boy, and take me instead."

Behind her, Daveth drew in a breath, but didn't interrupt. The demon in Connor's body moved closer.

"You? Why would you agree to such a thing? You don't know this boy. You are nowhere in his memories. Why do you care what happens here?"

"Because he is loved by someone I care about. And because it bothers me to see a family torn apart like this."

The demon's eyes narrowed, as it studied Rhianna's face. It reached up, and touched its fingers to her cheek. "Ah. Yes . . . it would, wouldn't it?" The demon chuckled. "You know how that feels. Better than most. And there is another little boy in your memory, a little boy you loved very much."

"Yes, there is. So take me instead. Just give me pretty visions, things I want to see, and I won't even fight you." Rhianna was sincere. She didn't intend to fight. With luck, the others would find a way to free her, and if not, at least she'd be with Loghain again for a little while.

The demon tilted Connor's head to one side. "You really would do this. Humans are such strange creatures. So unpredictable." His eyes narrowed. "I know what you want . . . I can see him, burning as brightly inside of you as anything else ever has. But why should I trust you? You came here to stop me, and there are other things inside you that burn. Perhaps not as bright, but they are there. Why would you give up your life?"

"Why do you care? I'm strong. Much stronger than the boy. How much longer can he give you?"

"It's tempting . . . so very tempting. The magic inside of him is delicious, but you have something else in your blood - a darkness that sings. You and I, we could have so much  _fun_  together." Rhianna shuddered at that word, and fear burst into life inside of her. This was stupid, incredibly stupid. Why was she doing this? For Teagan? Because of the tears on the face of a woman Rhianna had never even met before? For Oren's sake, even though this couldn't bring him back? Or was it merely because she didn't see any sort of future for herself, not really, and this seemed like an easy way out?

Teagan's face swam into her mind, along with a wave desire, just as she'd felt when he'd kiss her in the windmill.

"No." The demon leapt back, as if afraid Rhianna would attack. "You are trying to trick me. Go! Just go. If you leave now, I will let you have your miserable life. But the boy is mine, and I intend to keep him!"

Connor's eyes rolled white in his head, and he slumped to the ground. Rhianna hurried to his side.

"Wh-what, what happened?" His voice was back to normal, and sounded somewhat groggy, but he seemed to be unharmed.

"Nothing." Rhianna helped him back to his feet. "Nothing happened." She fought back a disappointment that was surprisingly bitter as she looked at the small boy who trembled beside her. He didn't remind her of Oren, not really. They looked nothing alike, but somehow, in failing Connor, it was as if she'd failed her nephew, yet again.

Dane came close, and sat at the boy's side. The hound caught Rhianna's gaze, his meaning clear: he would stay with Connor while Rhianna did whatever it was she needed to do next.

"Did you talk to the lady?"

"I did, but she didn't have anything helpful to say. But that's all right. I need to go now, but I'm going to come back. I promise. I'm going to find a way to fix this. Find a way to help you. And in the meantime, my hound will stay here. You like dogs, don't you?"

"I love dogs." Connor put a hand on Dane's head. "What's his name?"

"This is Dane. Just stay with him, and he'll do whatever he can to protect you, and to protect your family as well." With any luck, Dane's presence would calm the boy enough that the demon would stay away. At least long enough for Rhianna to figure out what to do next.

"All right. I'll stay with him. But please hurry."

"I will." She kissed the boy on the top of his head, and leaned down and hugged Dane tightly. Then she and Daveth returned to the main hall.

There, Teagan had returned with Jowan. The mage stood beside the arlessa, his shoulders slumped as though he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

"You are lucky to be alive, after all you've done." Isolde's voice was harsh and angry.

"But I didn't summon any demon!"

"You do admit to having poisoned my brother, though," Teagan said. "As if that weren't bad enough."

"Yes . . . I suppose it's possible that was what started all this. But I'm willing to help, if you'll let me."

Rhianna joined them. "I just spoke with Connor. He did read something in one of your books, a spell that apparently summoned this demon, allowed her to come to Connor in his dreams. We need to find a way to reverse it."

"In his dreams?" Jowan nodded. "That makes sense. The Veil wasn't torn enough to let her through in her own form. That's good . . . if the Veil were damaged, we'd have much bigger troubles on our hands. But still, spells like this can't just be reversed. Once the demon is here, it's too late for that. Destroying the demon is the only way I know to undo that sort of magic."

"Is there any way to destroy the demon without killing Connor?"

"No," Wynne said firmly. "There is no other way. Not one we should be willing to consider."

"Except there is." Jowan paused. "There is another way. A mage could confront the demon in the Fade, without hurting Connor himself."

"What do you mean?" Teagan asked. "Is the demon not within Connor?"

"Not physically, no," Jowan explained. "The demon approached Connor in the Fade while he dreamt, and controls him from there. We can use the connection between them to find the demon."

"You can enter the Fade, then? And kill the demon without hurting my boy?" For the first time, Isolde's voice held a note of hope.

"No. I can't do both. But I can enable another mage to enter the Fade."

"That would require lyrium," Wynne warned. "And several mages, in order to cast and hold the spell. We do not have the resources to perform magic of that sort."

"But I don't need lyrium," Jowan replied. "I can get that power from someone else. From someone's life energy."

"Blood magic." Wynne spat out the words. "I won't let you do that, Jowan. Resorting to another form of evil to rid ourselves of this creature? No. If you could see what happened to the tower as a result of blood magic . . . you should be ashamed for even suggesting it."

"Tell me more about this ritual," Rhianna said to Jowan. Wynne might not approve, but in the end, it wasn't her decision. "What exactly would need to happen?"

"You can't be serious?" A deep furrow formed across Alistair's brow. "Blood magic? I agree with Wynne. We can't fight evil with more evil."

"And I want to hear what Jowan has to say," Rhianna insisted. "I'm not willing to dismiss any possible solution without knowing all the details first."

"It is blood magic," Jowan replied. "A spell of this kind . . . well, it's powerful. Very powerful. This isn't the sort of spell where I can cut my hand and use my own blood. I'd need someone else's. A lot of it." He paused. "All of it, really."

"So," Teagan began, "are you saying . . . someone must die? Someone must be sacrificed?"

"Yes. That would allow me to send another mage into the Fade, while I perform the ritual."

"Then let it be my blood." Isolde held her head high. "I will be the sacrifice."

"What?" Teagan grasped her by the shoulders. "Isolde, are you mad? You cannot do this!"

"I can, and I will." Isolde tugged herself away from his grasp. "Either someone kills my son to destroy that thing inside him, or I give my life so he can live. To me, the answer is clear. Connor is blameless in this. He should not have to pay the price."

"That seems fair." Alistair's voice was cold. "Better you than him."

Isolde flinched at Alistair's words, but she said nothing.

Maker. He'd changed his mind about blood magic rather quickly, hadn't he?

"Well, don't expect me to help," Wynne said. "I will not have anything to do with blood magic." She crossed her arms in front of her chest, as though certain this would put an end to the discussion.

"Then I will go into the Fade, if it comes to that." Everyone turned to look at Morrigan, who had remained quiet until now. "Not that I care much what happens to any of these people, but if traveling into the Fade will put an end to this, and we can be done here and leave this wretched place, I will do it."

So there was way to save Connor, but at the cost of Isolde's life? There had to be some other option.

Rhianna turned to Jowan. "Wynne said something about lyrium? And more mages? Does this mean there is another way to enter the Fade? If we could get enough lyrium, you wouldn't need blood to perform the ritual?"

"Yes, that is possible," Jowan said carefully. "We'd need a lot of lyrium, though. If we could get Connor to the Circle Tower, they have everything we need. But I don't think the demon is going to agree to let us take him anywhere."

"What if we brought lyrium and mages here?" Rhianna suggested. "The Circle Tower is not far. By boat, I could travel there and back within just a few days. And . . . well, I think it's safe to say they owe me a favor."

"Yes," Wynne said thoughtfully. "That could work. Even with the tower in disarray, it should not be difficult to get what is needed. The problem is time. The boy is passive now, but he may not remain that way."

"I think we have to try," Rhianna replied. "Jowan can stay here, and if it becomes necessary, you have the option of doing the ritual the way he originally suggested. The rest of you can stay here, as well, just in case things do get out of hand, but with any luck, I can be to the tower and back before things escalate to that point. And I've left Dane with Connor; hopefully, my hound will help keep the boy calm." She paused. "All I need now is a boat, and someone to help me sail her, so I won't have to stop to rest."

"There's a man in the village," Teagan said. "Tomas is his name. I believe he's a fisherman by trade, and I saw him this morning, so I know that he . . . survived the night. He's the one who brought all of you to see me in the Chantry yesterday."

"Yes," Rhianna said. "I remember him." She glanced at the faces of those assembled. "So, are we agreed?"

"That sounds fine to me," Morrigan said, and the others nodded in agreement.

"You can't go alone," Daveth said. "Perhaps I should come with you to the Circle?"

Daveth's company would be more than welcome, but she trusted him more than any of the others to remain calm if things went badly here.

"Thank you, but I think I'd prefer you to stay here, and keep an eye on Connor. And Dane." She met his eyes, and he nodded. She glanced at the others. There was still tension between Alistair and Isolde; if the two of them fought, that might prove disastrous. "Alistair, what about you? Would you be willing to come with me?"

"Me?" He blinked. "Of course, I'll be happy to come along."

"All right." Rhianna let out a breath. "Then let's do this."

Teagan stepped up beside her. "I wonder," he murmured, "if I could have a quick word with you before you leave, milady?"

"Of course," she agreed.

Teagan led her out of the great hall into a small room whose walls were lined with bookshelves. Inside, he stood close, but made no move to touch her.

"Thank you," he began. "Before I say anything else, I want to thank you, so very much, for all you have done. Earlier, when you agreed to come through the tunnel, I knew your intentions were sincere, but I'll admit that I doubted very much any of us would survive this. But you made it through, and for the first time in days, I have hope that this will be resolved with no further bloodshed. And for that, I am very grateful. More grateful than I can say."

"You're welcome." Rhianna chewed at her bottom lip. "I had doubts of my own, but I do think we'll be able to fix this with the help of the Circle. I hope so, anyway. Connor is sweet boy, and I'll do everything I can to make sure no one else has to die."

"If anyone can do that - convince the mages to help - it's you. I feel quite certain of that." A slight creased formed across his brow. "And I feel as though . . ." He paused. "Well, I wonder if perhaps I owe you an apology. For what happened earlier, in the windmill."

"An apology?" Did Teagan regret what happened between them? A stab of disappointment ran through her. "Why would you own me an apology?"

"Well, it's just that . . . what happened must have seemed very sudden. I didn't give you much warning. I just . . . well, the last thing I would ever want to do is take advantage of you, in any way. I hope you know that."

"Take advantage? Did I act as though you took advantage?"

"Perhaps not," he replied. "But you are . . . well, you're so much younger than I am. I fear I forgot that, in the heat of the moment."

"I'm old enough to know what I want." She caught his gaze. "And I recall stating quite clearly that it was all right with me. That kissing you was what I wanted."

"Good." He let out a breath, and smiled warmly as he leaned closer and took one of her hand. "I am glad to hear that. I suppose I'm just being-"

"Teagan?" Isolde appeared in the doorway. "Teagan, what are you-? Oh . . . I'm sorry. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"What's the matter?" Teagan tensed at Rhianna's side. "Is something wrong? Did something happen to Connor?"

"No," she replied. "No. Nothing new, anyway. I just . . . when I looked around and I couldn't find you . . . I was frightened, not knowing where you were." Her eyes took in the scene before her: Teagan and Rhianna, standing close together, hand in hand. Her eyes widened. "I am sorry. It's obvious I have interrupted."

"It's all right," Rhianna said. "I really should get going." She looked into Teagan's face. "We can talk more when I get back."

"Yes." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'd like that very much."

She hesitated for the space of a few heartbeats, then let loose of Teagan's hand, and went in search of Alistair.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Amanda Kitswell, Kevin, and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, Yarnandtea, Nymra, Irish_Changeling, and Kenedii.


	34. Nothing of herself left to give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and Alistair travel to Kinloch Hold.

__**5 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Redcliffe Castle** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

The moon shone softly over the glassy waters of Lake Calenhad, and a hum of crickets and frogs filled the night air, punctuated now and again by the mournful cry of an owl. The little fishing boat slid silently through the night, and it didn't take much effort for Rhianna to keep the craft moving forward. The wind was light, but steady enough to fill the sail, and there was no reason for her to tack. So, she sat quietly at the rudder with nothing much to occupy her mind but her own thoughts.

It had been an easy task to convince the fisherman, Tomas, to ferry Rhianna and Alistair up to the Circle Tower and back again. He'd seemed eager to put the stinking, smoke-filled air of Redcliffe behind him, at least for a few days. When they sailed out of the bay in the afternoon, Tomas had offered to take the first shift at the helm, so Rhianna and Alistair could sleep. Sometime after night had fallen, Tomas woke her so she could take over while he rested.

Now, Rhianna was the only one awake. It had been such a long time since she'd been alone like this - truly alone, without even one other person for company, and without Dane's comforting presence. She considered waking Alistair, but the sight of him asleep on the deck made her smile, and she couldn't bear to disturb him. His lips were parted slightly, and his hair stuck up in the front, and he looked very . . . young. Every once in a while, he muttered something in his sleep, but it didn't sound as though he were having a bad dream, so she let him get his rest.

Instead she looked out over the water and watched the moonlight play on small ripples that broke the otherwise flat surface of the lake.

Teagan's face appeared in her mind, and she allowed herself to savor the pleasant warmth that followed. It had been so long since she felt anything worth savoring. It still seemed surreal, the kiss they had shared – so completely unexpected, but utterly delightful. It had felt so  _good._

The warmth in his eyes as he leaned close.

The heat of his mouth, the tug of his fingers in her hair.

The desire that blossomed in her chest, a feeling she'd feared might never come again.

Yes. Kissing Teagan had felt so very good.

But now she was left to wonder what it meant. Or perhaps it didn't mean anything at all?

Just before she'd left the castle, she wasn't sure if Teagan intended to kiss her again, or if his apology meant he regretted kissing her in the first place. Hopefully not the latter. Teagan was nothing if not a true gentleman, so perhaps he just wanted to make absolutely certain the kiss was what she had wanted.

Perhaps the more pressing question: if Teagan was interested in her romantically, was that what Rhianna wanted? Kissing him had been wonderful, but was she interested in anything more?

She was fond of Teagan, of course, but she'd only ever thought of him as a friend, never in any romantic way. Her heart had been claimed by Loghain so long ago that she'd never thought romantically about anyone else, really, until she went to Orlais.

To be honest, she'd always been puzzled by the fact that Teagan had never married. He was handsome, and kind, and held a beautiful bannric. There must have been women aplenty who would have been happy to become his wife. Her mother had suspected that Teagan had some secret lover: a married woman – perhaps even his brother's wife. After seeing Teagan and Isolde together, though, Rhianna doubted that was the case.

Once upon a time, her parents would probably have considered Teagan an appropriate match for Rhianna. And – her feelings for Loghain aside – Rhianna wouldn't have balked at the suggestion. Teagan was a lovely man. Handsome. Funny and charming. Since Rhianna was to inherit the teyrnir, Teagan could have left Rainesfere to someone else, and come north to rule Highever at Rhianna's side.

It was frighteningly easy to picture a life with Teagan in Highever. His genuine laughter at a humorous story her mother told as they sat together in the parlor, sipping port after the evening meal. Pulling Oren up into his lap for a story. Holding hands as he and Rhianna walked together out in the gardens. Climbing the battlements to watch the sun set. Sneaking into the kitchens late at night to drink warm milk and whisper to one another quietly, so as not to wake Nan.

The curve of his smile as he stepped close to pull her into his arms.

Yes, her mother would have approved, and her father might have had misgivings, but he would have kept them to himself. Teagan was the king's uncle, after all . . .

But none of that could ever happen now. Her father was dead. Her mother was dead. As were Oren, and Nan. Rhianna might never walk the hallways of Highever Castle ever again, with Teagan or anyone else.

Something dull and heavy settled in her stomach, as Teagan's smile flickered, and faded into darkness.

Rhianna tried to imagine him again - frowning gently over a game of chess, or pulling himself up onto his horse for a morning ride - but there was nothing there.

Nothing but a profound, empty darkness.

This was nothing new. All she ever saw when she tried to imagine her future was darkness, or death. No images of anything bright or pleasurable would persist in her mind. Only remnants left behind from her dreams: darkspawn, surrounded by smoke and flame; the archdemon's jagged teeth, and a stench of sulfur and decay.

Her future.

What future? How could she even think about such a thing, especially with another person? Someone like Teagan?

Even if he wanted her, what sort of life could they hope to have together? Rhianna was a Grey Warden. It was her duty to stop the Blight, to travel the length and breath of Ferelden to gather allies and fight darkspawn. To face the archdemon.

Even if by some miracle she managed to survive all of that, there was no hope of a 'normal' life. She couldn't just walk away from the taint that seethed in her blood. It would be part of her, always. No one would want her now, not like this. Not as a Grey Warden. Any life she might have once hoped for was beyond her reach: marriage, a family. Were Grey Wardens even allowed to marry and have children? Would a child be tainted from the Joining? And even if it were allowed, no one would want a woman destined to spend the rest of her life fighting darkspawn.

Even the desire demon hadn't wanted her.

Heat began to build behind her eyes, and she tried to blink it away.

No. All the things Rhianna had once hoped for needed to be put aside, forever. Everything had changed.  _She_  had changed, been damaged beyond repair.

Knowing all this didn't change some things, though. It didn't dissolve the yearning she felt for companionship, for human contact. When Teagan had reached for her, she'd gone eagerly into his arms, desperate for his touch.

It had been a mistake, though. A stupid, stupid mistake. There could never be anything between them, not anything that could endure. The very best she could hope for was a night or two in his arms, before she left for Orzammar and Maker knows where else after that. Certainly, there was nothing to stop her from laying with him, but was that what either of them really wanted? Would that give her any satisfaction? Or would it only make the loneliness even less easy to bear when she found herself alone, yet again?

She scoffed. How far she had strayed from the girl who didn't understand Habren's dirty limerick. From the girl who believed Loghain was the only man she would ever love, the only man she would ever lay with. Who believed she would spend the rest of her life with just him. Now here she was, considering laying with Teagan, with no thought of any future together. Would her mother be horrified? Perhaps not; she had known about Loghain, after all, and had never said an unkind word. But Father might not see things quite the same way . . .

Only Father wouldn't care.  _Couldn't_  care.

He was dead.

Rhianna's vision swam with tears she couldn't just blink away.

Neither of her parents could care what happened to Rhianna ever again. They were gone, forever, beyond caring what Rhianna did or didn't do. Whether she kissed every man in Ferelden, or sealed herself away in the Chantry.

Oh, Maker. She missed them. She missed them so much.

A tear slid down her cheek. Then another, and another, and a wave of grief hit her, like a punch in the gut. Her stomach lurched, and she gasped for breath, the pain so intense she could barely fill her lungs.

How was it possible they were really gone? How was she supposed to go on, knowing she would never see them again? Never hear their laughter? Never again be held in her father's loving arms, or hear her mother's voice soothe away her fears?

A sob burst from her throat, and she struggled to keep quiet; Maker forbid she woke the others, as tears and snot streamed down her face. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, and the bright, metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, but still the tears came, fast and hot, and she couldn't quite fill her lungs with breath.

She wanted her father, and her brother. She wanted to hear Oren's laughter, to see Oriana's slow smile.

Most of all, she wanted her mother. The ache carved out a bit more space inside of her, and she gripped the rudder tightly as she rocked back and forth, trying desperately not to sob out loud.

She wanted her mother. She wanted kisses on the top of her head, and the sound of soft footfalls in the hallway. She wanted the faint scent of roses as she was being tucked in goodnight. She wanted the light scratch of fingernails on her back, as she fell asleep. She wanted a whisper of encouragement, the smile of a shared secret.

She wanted her mother. More desperately than she had ever wanted anything in the whole of her life, she wanted her mother, but her mother was gone. Forever.

An image flickered into life in the blackness of Rhianna's mind: her mother, splayed out on the floor of the pantry. A smear of blood on her cheek, her green eyes wide and staring lifelessly.

How had she died? Like Father, with a sword through her belly? How many of Howe's men had she taken with her?

Then, another scene: a pyre. No, not a pyre, but a bonfire. The flames of a bonfire that licked at the night sky, next to a pit that had been dug in the ground. Her mother, and father, Oren, everyone, piled on top of one another in a heap in the dank earth, under rainclouds that blocked out even the light of the moon. Rain fell on the dead, and the freshly turned earth, and those few guards who had been tasked with dragging the bodies out of the castle. Not even a Chantry sister had been on hand to pray for their souls to reach the Maker's side.

What if Howe hadn't even given them proper pyres?

Her stomach churned, and she tried to take slow, deep breaths, against the rising tide of nausea, but it was no good. She let go of the rudder, leaned over the back of the boat, and lost the contents of her stomach.

Panting for breath, she clutched at the railing. Her stomach heaved again, and again as that horrible vision played in her mind.

Finally, the nausea passed. Exhausted, she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the deck and fall into whatever sort of sleep she could manage, but she couldn't do that. She had to make certain the boat sailed true.

She forced herself to sit up, and turn her attention back to the rudder. Her head pounded and she panted for breath and her eyes stung from tears, but her stomach had settled.

For now.

Rhianna sobbed as silently as she could, as the boat slid northward through the dark waters of the lake.

‹›‹O›‹›

Alistair groaned, and shifted position on the deck. As Rhianna watched, he rolled over and bumped into the railing, then pulled himself up into a sitting position. He arched his back and stretched his arms above his head. With a yawn, he caught her eye, and grinned.

"Nothing like sleeping on hard wood to work out all the aches and pains, eh?" He relaxed back against the side of the boat. "How long have you been awake?"

"A few hours." Her stomach was hollow, her throat raw, and her eyes were puffy, and ached, but at least the tears had stopped, and she felt capable of carrying on a conversation without dissolving into sobs.

"Why didn't you wake me?" His tone was boyish and exuberant. "I'm good company, you know."

"Are you?" She made a sound in her throat that was meant to be a chuckle, but didn't quite hit the mark. Alistair didn't seem to notice.

"Of course I am. I'm charming and witty, and I tell marvelous jokes. Or haven't you noticed?"

"All right, then. Tell me a joke."

"Oh. Wow. I didn't expect you to actually take me up on it just now. But, all right. Let's see . . . Why don't crabs donate to the Chantry?"

"I don't know. Why don't crabs donate to the Chantry?"

"Because they're shellfish." He laughed loudly. "Get it? Shellfish?"

"Maker's breath." Rhianna arched a brow. "That may have been the worst joke I've ever heard in my life." Even so, one corner of her mouth twitched upward.

"Ah, it can't be that bad. You're smiling. Just there." He pointed. "That's a smile."

"That's not a smile. I think I've just got indigestion."

"No, you can't fool me. I know a smile when I see one. And, I know when someone doesn't like one of my jokes. When I was at the monastery, one of the old sisters used to never laugh at my jokes. Even the funny ones. No matter how hard I tried, she'd just glare at me and then rap me with her cane."

"Maybe she was deaf?"

"Not a chance. That biddy could hear you close your eyes from around a corner. She just hated me.  _Hated_  me."

"Well, maybe it wasn't you she hated." The corner of her mouth twitched again. "Maybe she just had decent taste in jokes."

"Oh ho! I bet you think you're funny, don't you? Well, I'll show you. Maybe I'll just tell you one bad joke after another until you toss me off the ship." His nose wrinkled, "Although, come to think of it, with this armor weighing me down, that would be inconvenient. So, maybe I'll stop with the jokes. Either way, you should have woken me. Just think of how much fun you missed while I was asleep."

She should have woken him. Perhaps his company would have kept her from going so far into the depths of her self pity. It was something of a surprise to discover how much everything still hurt. She'd thought she was fine, that she'd pushed and pushed and pushed all the feelings away, until they were gone. Only they weren't gone. They'd just been buried, waiting for a chance to erupt, like lava from under the earth. Waiting for a moment when she was alone, something that hadn't happened in weeks and weeks. There was always someone there, someone to talk to, someone looking to her for advice, someone whose silence encouraged her to keep a tight rein on her feelings. She'd taken for granted the constant companionship.

"I did consider waking you," she replied, "but you looked so comfortable. Besides, you needed your rest. I suspect we'll all have to get in the habit of taking our sleep when and where we find it."

"I suppose you're right," he agreed. He yawned again. "How much longer until we reach the Circle Tower, do you think?"

"We should be there sometime this evening."

"Do you really think the First Enchanter will agree to help?"

"Yes. Connor is the son of an arl, which doesn't matter when it comes to magic, but I suspect that even the Chantry doesn't want to get on the wrong side of the Landsmeet, which is what would happen were it to come out that they hadn't done everything in their power to help Eamon's child. I just hope . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"What?"

"I hope the templars don't decide to come and deal with it in their own way." That was a possibility she hadn't considered before now. "What if they decide that he's beyond help, and demand he be put to death?"

"I won't lie. That's a possibility." Alistair shrugged. "And I can't say I disagree. Not entirely, anyway. I'll be as happy as anyone if this ritual works, but I've never heard of such a thing. And, well, he is an abomination. I don't like thinking about him that way - he's just a boy - but he did summon a demon, and it did kill a lot of people. Usually, I figure anyone who's willing to deal with demons is either crazy, or just plain evil. And I don't think that about Connor. But if this ritual thing doesn't work . . . well, you know."

Good thing Alistair didn't know about the conversation Rhianna had with the demon. Would he consider that evil, or just crazy?

He wasn't wrong, though, about the ritual. "We'll just have to do everything we can to make sure it works." She paused. "And if Irving sounds as though he's not inclined to help, I intend to remind him that an escaped Circle mage was involved, and that possibly, the Circle has some measure of responsibility for that."

"Ah . . . guilt. Such a useful tactic." He grinned again, but then the smile faded. "Speaking of which . . . um . . ." He glanced out over the water, but then his eyes returned to Rhianna's face. "I think maybe I . . . well, I think I owe you an apology."

"What? Why?"

"For what I said when we were down in the dungeons. About . . . about it not being a rescue?"

Oh. That. Maker, she wasn't sure she wanted to have this discussion. She'd managed not to cry about Loghain earlier, but there was no guarantee she wouldn't start now.

"I mean," Alistair continued, "you know how I feel about him. But . . . he really saved your life? All those times?"

"He really saved my life all those times."

"That must make this a lot harder for you. Watching him turn his back on . . . well, on everything. On Cailan, and the Grey Wardens. On Ferelden. On the Blight. Even I grew up on stories of the Hero of River Dane, which just seems to make what he's done that much worse."

There was no evidence at all that Loghain had turned his back on Ferelden, or the Blight, but Rhianna didn't have the energy to argue. For now, she'd just accept the apology and let it rest.

"Anyway," Alistair continued, "I just wanted you to know that I'm . . . well, I'm glad you're not dead."

She tried to smile. "Thank you."

"So." He stretched his legs out in front of him. "What are we going to do after all this . . . mage business with Connor?"

"I think we ought to head to Orzammar. Well, what I really want to do is go south and look for Fergus, but I don't think there's any chance of doing that before the snows come. So, we should go north. Get through the Frostbacks before the weather makes travel through the mountains more difficult."

"Sounds reasonable. Besides, I have to admit I'm looking forward to seeing Orzammar. I've never been there before. Well, of course I haven't; I've never been much of anywhere, really. But the dwarven city always sounded interesting. Different from anywhere else on earth. That's what Duncan said, anyway."

"Duncan told you about Orzammar? What did he say about it? And about the dwarves?"

"Let's see. That it's huge - not what you'd expect from a city that's underground - but there aren't nearly enough people living there to fill up all the houses. Apparently, the population of the dwarves isn't growing very fast. Too many of them die fighting darkspawn. That's a strange thought, isn't it? That they're fighting darkspawn all the time, when we only have to deal with them on the surface during a Blight."

"I seem to recall hearing something like that before. About the darkspawn, I mean." Was it Loghain who had told her that? Or perhaps it was the dwarven ambassador who had come to the Landsmeet?

"Yeah, it's a shame, and that's probably why the dwarves don't really care much for humans. According to Duncan, anyway. They respect the Grey Wardens, though, so I don't think we'll have any trouble. Duncan said the dwarven king was always very friendly to him."

"The dwarven king . . . Aeducan, I think that's his name? Only . . . didn't he die recently?"

"What? Did he?"

"I'm sure the tavern keeper in Lothering told me that. Although perhaps it wasn't true."

"I suppose we'll find out for ourselves, soon enough." Alistair leaned back, and turned himself slightly, so he could watch the opposite shore as they sailed slowly past.

When he fell silent, Rhianna's gaze wandered across the darkened landscape. Almost immediately, unpleasant thoughts came rushing back: her father, bleeding on the floor of the pantry. Oren's lifeless body. Loghain's scowl as he turned and walked away that last day in Ostagar. The ghouls in Redcliffe.

She tried to push them away, tried to picture Teagan's face. Tried to reclaim the feeling she'd had while kissing him, or imagine what it would be like when she saw him again. But there was only a hollow, empty darkness.

"So." She hunted around for something else to talk about. "How did you become a Grey Warden, anyway? You've never told me that story, except that it was Duncan who recruited you."

"How did I become a Warden? Same way you did. You drink some blood, you choke on it and pass out. Bad dreams. It's like Satinalia, only without the presents." He grinned. "You haven't forgotten already, have you?"

"No, I haven't forgotten." Rhianna arched a brow at him.

"Oh, I get it. You want actual details. All right." He ran a hand through his hair. "As you know, I was in the Chantry after Arl Eamon sent me away from Redcliffe, training to become a templar." He paused. "And, the truth of the matter is that I hated living in the monastery. The initiates from poor families thought I put on airs, while the noble ones called me a bastard and ignored me. I felt like Arl Eamon had cast me off, unwanted, and I was determined to be bitter. And of course, the sisters mostly seemed to hate me. So, when they announced the tournament in Denerim, I latched onto the idea of becoming a Grey Warden. I prayed and prayed to the Maker that Duncan would pick me."

"And he did. That must have made you very happy."

"It did. Although, it was a bit more complicated than I'd expected. When Duncan announced that I was the one he wanted to recruit, the grand cleric threw a fit. She didn't want to let me go. I'm still not entirely sure why. It's not as if she and I were best friends or anything. I wasn't even a full templar, nor a particularly promising novice at that. I hadn't even  _won_  the tournament. I'd have thought she'd be glad to see the back of me, to tell you the truth. But she forbid him from recruiting me, and threatened to have us both arrested. Duncan was forced to conscript me, actually, and was she ever furious when he did."

"Duncan conscripted you against her wishes? Did she know your father was King Maric?"

Alistair turned and gazed out over the water, as if he didn't really want to meet Rhianna's eyes. "I . . . don't know. I suppose it's possible." Something about the way he answered made her think he'd probably asked himself that same question countless times before. And that the answer was probably 'yes.'

"Did Duncan know?"

"I told Duncan the truth after he recruited me, and he didn't say much about it. I suppose it's possible he knew before I told him." He paused. "More than just possible, I guess. I'd like to think he was just so overwhelmed by my prowess on the battlefield and my enormous wit that he just  _had_  to recruit me. But, chances are it had something to do with . . . well, you know. I'm pretty sure that's why I ended up on beacon-lighting duty at Ostagar, too."

It did seem likely that Duncan knew. Why else risk the ire of the Chantry? But what did it mean? Did Duncan hope to someday put a Grey Warden on the throne of Ferelden? Or did he hope Alistair would be excluded as a potential king after the Joining? Almost certainly the former. There was a lot of talk about the Grey Wardens' neutrality, but it didn't seem that's how things worked, in practice. For a Grey Warden to sit on the throne of Ferelden would certainly be a feather in the order's cap.

"In any case," Alistair continued, "I'll always be grateful to Duncan for recruiting me. I can do more good fighting the Blight than I could have stuck away in a monastery, or watching over Circle mages. And the Grey Wardens really did become my family. I never felt at home anywhere else. Not until I joined the Wardens."

"What was it like? Being with all the other Wardens. I only spent the one evening with them, but they seemed . . . friendly."

"They were. I wasn't with them all that long, either, but we had some good times together. They were quite a group. It really did feel like an extended family, since we were all cut off from our former lives, and only had one another. And all of us had gone through the Joining, which gave us something in common. And it wasn't all grim talk about fighting darkspawn. We laughed more than you might think. There was this one time . . ." His voice trailed off. "Well, you probably don't want to hear stories about men you didn't know."

"I do want to hear the stories. But were they really all men? Weren't there any women?"

"No, none of the Grey Wardens I knew were women. Not until you and Solona. I saw portraits of some, hanging in the Warden compound in Denerim." He glanced at her, and then looked away again. "None of them were as pretty as you are, though." She blinked with surprise, but before she could think of a response, he continued, "Anyway, there was one Warden who came all the way from the Anderfels. Gregor. He was a burly man with the biggest, fuzziest beard you've ever seen. Maybe you remember him; he was there at the campfire that night. He's the one who joked about Riordan and Leonie . . ." He wrinkled his nose. "Only you've not met them, either, have you? Oh! But there's the proof that there are other women in the Wardens. Leonie Caron is a Warden in Orlais. Although, I've never met her. But still, she's more than just a portrait on the wall." He paused. "Where was I? Oh, yes. Gregor.

"Anyhow, the man could  _drink_. He drank all the time, but never got drunk. Finally, we all placed bets to see just how many pints it would take to put him under the table. He said he'd drink a pint for every half-pint that the rest of us drank. He was still going by the time the rest of us were passed out."

Rhianna managed a half-smile. "It sounds like you had a lot of fun together, all of you."

"Sometimes we did. They taught me that it doesn't have to be deadly serious all the time." Alistair chuckled. "I'm told that Duncan walked in later on and saw us all passed out from one end of the hall to the other, and Gregor still drinking. We never did find out just how much it would take to get in him in his cups. Apparently, Duncan laughed so hard, he nearly . . . he nearly . . ."

His voice trailed off, and his shoulders slumped, and he folded up into himself, just a bit. He closed his eyes, and let out a ragged breath.

"Alistair?"

"It . . . it still hurts so much, you know? That he's gone."

"Yes," she murmured. "I do know."

"I know this might sound stupid," Alistair continued, "but just now, it struck me that I have nothing to remember him by. Nothing at all. We couldn't give him a pyre, and there wasn't any token of his that I could take with me. What is it people say? Something to remember him by? But that's ridiculous. As if I could ever forget him."

At the mention of a pyre, all Rhianna's earlier feelings flooded back. She inhaled deeply through her nose, and then let the breath out very slowly. She would not cry again. She would  _not_  cry. She just wouldn't.

Alistair tilted his head to one side. "Rhianna? Are you . . . are you all right?"

She blinked, and somehow the truth began to spill out. "I . . . no. No, I'm not. I'm . . . I was thinking about my family earlier. While you were asleep. About my parents. My mother. And how much I still miss them." Another slow breath. "You're right. It just hurts so much."

Alistair pushed himself up, and came to sit beside her. He started to reach for her, as though he meant to put an arm around her shoulder, but he hesitated, and put his hand on her arm instead.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." She shook her head. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Still, she turned to him and gave him what she hoped was a smile. "Thank you, but no. Maybe some other time. I'm feeling a bit too . . . raw just now."

"Fair enough. But if you want to talk, I'm here. I mean, you've listened to me go on and on about Duncan. It probably sounds stupid to you, doesn't it? You lost your whole family. And Duncan was just one man."

"It doesn't sound stupid. He was important to you, and he's gone. There's nothing stupid about missing him." She paused. "Were you . . . were you in love with him?"

"What?" Alistair's brow furrowed deeply. "What do you mean, in love with him?"

"I mean in love. Romantically. I just thought . . . well, the way you talk about him, I thought, maybe . . ."

Oh, but that was awkward, wasn't it? Even if Alistair was in love with Duncan, Duncan likely hadn't returned the affection, considering he spent his last night with Solona.

"No." Alistair shook his head a bit too vigorously. "No, I wasn't in love with him. Why would you think something like that?"

"Um . . . I don't know. I just . . . look, just forget I said anything. Obviously, I was wrong."

"It's . . . it's okay. But no. I . . . no. He was like . . . well, like a father to me, I guess. Considering I never really had one. Not one that cared, I mean."

Perhaps it was time to change the subject. "Did you ever even meet your father? King Maric?"

"No, not really. I did see him once, when he came to Redcliffe. I was about eight years old, and I wouldn't have even known who he was if someone hadn't pointed him out."

"What about Cailan? Did you ever speak with him?"

"I was introduced to Cailan, but I don't think he cared much about my existence. Let's see . . . I believe I said, 'Greetings, Your Highness,' and he said, 'Ooh! Swords!' and ran off to the armory. That was high point of our relationship. We drifted apart after that. Very sad," he scoffed.

"That does sound like Cailan," Rhianna said. "He didn't always think through how his actions would affect other people. I'd tell you not to take it personally, but that's probably asking a lot, isn't it?"

"Well, I suppose it's good to hear it wasn't _just_ me he treated like that. Ah, it's not like it really mattered to me that much. Or maybe it did, but I spent so much time convincing myself that it shouldn't bother me, that now it hardly ever does." He paused. "It's so strange, to think of them as my family. I mean, there are tapestries and paintings of King Maric, and Cailan, all over the place. And it's just bizarre to see something like that and think, 'oh, there's my father or my brother,' when neither of them ever even acknowledged me at all. I think Cailan knew, but he never said anything about it to me."

"I wonder why everyone wanted it kept secret." Rhianna mused. "You're younger than Cailan, so you didn't pose any direct threat to the succession. Your father could have acknowledged you; it's not like you're the first child ever born out of wedlock to a monarch. You could have been fostered in the Free Marches, or trained to be a knight. Given a small bannric, even."

Anything would have been better than what really happened: being sent to Redcliffe to sleep in kennels that stank of urine and musk, and then forced into the Chantry. How could Maric have done such a thing, to his own son? Or maybe Maric didn't know the details, and just trusted Eamon to do the right thing by the boy.

Either way, Alistair knew the truth. So why did he go along with it for so long?

Almost as though he'd read her thoughts, Alistair said, "Arl Eamon always told me that I would be seen as a threat. To Cailan, I mean. That people would think I wanted his throne. And I never wanted that sort of trouble. I didn't want the throne. I still don't, so there was no reason for me to make a fuss about things."

Someone should have, though. Maric should have made sure that Alistair was being treated properly in Redcliffe, and not completely shunted aside. There wasn't any point in saying that to Alistair, though.

Alistair turned to her. "What was my father like?"

Oh. Of course he would ask. But how should she answer? Rhianna had adored Maric, but gushing about what a wonderful man he had been hardly seemed appropriate, in front of the son Maric had never even bothered to meet.

"I was very fond of him. He was always kind to me, and funny. He and I joked around together, quite a lot. We teased one another about things. I got the feeling there weren't many people who were willing to joke with him, because he was the king. But to me, he wasn't the king. I mean, he was, of course. But it didn't make him different as far as I was concerned, so we had fun when we were together." She paused. "But I got the feeling that sometimes he was sad. I think he . . . drank. Rather a lot. I always assumed it was because he missed Queen Rowan, but perhaps he regretted his decision about you too? I wish . . . well, I wish you'd been able to meet him. He was . . ."

Her voice trailed off. Maric had been a good man. But he hadn't been a very good father. Not to Alistair, at least, so perhaps she'd said enough about his good points.

"He was just a person, really, when it came right down to it. And I'm not sure he enjoyed being a king. I don't think it was easy for him."

"Fair enough." Alistair sighed. "How strange that you knew him, and I never did. It's not like I regret it, not really. I mean, I didn't know him, so I never knew what I was missing. If I was missing much of anything at all. But still . . . it's strange." He shook his head, as if to clear it. "Can I ask you a question, now? It's only fair, after all. We've spent ages talking about me."

"All right," she agreed.

"Being the daughter of a teyrn, you knew pretty much everyone in the nobility? Is that right?"

"Well, I knew some of them better than others. But I have met just about everyone in the Landsmeet, if that's what you mean."

"So . . . just how well do you know Bann Teagan?"

"Teagan? I've known him for years. I wouldn't say we've ever been particularly close, but we've spent a fair amount of time together. Riding near Denerim, hunting. He's visited Highever from time to time."

"Oh. Okay. So, the two of you aren't . . . involved? Romantically?"

"What?"

"Well, I was just wondering, because when we first arrived in Redcliffe, you both seemed really happy to see one another . And then . . . right before he went up to the castle, you sort of . . . kissed. I thought maybe there was something between you."

She blinked. How did he know about the kiss? They'd been inside the windmill . . . in private. The door had been shut, hadn't it?

Oh. Wait. He wasn't talking about  _that_ kiss. Teagan had kissed her one more time, just briefly, before he left with Isolde. That must be what Alistair meant.

But why would he care about that?

"No, Teagan and I have never been involved . . . that way."

"Do you think you will be? In the future?"

"I . . ." The hollow feeling echoed in her stomach. "I don't know." Could she be with Teagan? Could she be with anyone, when she was still so broken and scared? No matter how desperately she yearned for someone to hold her, to whisper soothing words into her ears, to bring her body to life beneath his touch, she simply couldn't do it. She had nothing of herself left to give. And Teagan was good, and kind, and honorable. He deserved better. "Probably not. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," Alistair shrugged. "Just making conversation."

She looked out over the water; the sky had begun to lighten in the east, and pale sparkles danced upon the surface of the lake.

He turned back to her, a faint smile on his lips. "Do you want to hear another joke?"

"Yes, please." She very much wanted to hear another joke. Even if it was horrible. Anything, so that Alistair would keep talking. Perhaps his voice would help drive away her misery.

"Why did the griffon cross the road?"

"I don't know. Why did the griffon cross the road?"

"It didn't, because there aren't any more griffons." He grinned. "Oh." His smile faltered. "Ouch. No more griffons. Now I've gone and made myself sad."

A chuckle bubbled up in Rhianna's chest. Just a small one, but it was there, and it was real, and when she let it escape her throat, the darkness lifted, just a little.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Sehnsuchttraum, Psyche Sinclair, Amanda Kitswell, and Kevin, and also to all my fabulous reviewers: KatDancer, Kenedii, Irish_Changeling, Yarnandtea, Riptide, and The Reader.
> 
> And a special shout-out to Faithliesinashes for the griffon joke. That is a classic.


	35. Stretched a bit thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain visits Fort Drakon

__**6 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Denerim** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Everything about Fort Drakon was familiar, reassuringly so.

The sounds of metal against metal, and booted footsteps on stone. The smells of cowhide and sweat and coal smoke and something like burnt honey, from the beeswax used to harden leather armor. The marble walls, darkened by the torch smoke of countless years. The chill that never quite left the air, no matter the time of year.

It felt like walking back in time, before the Blight. When things were simpler. Before darkspawn threatened to destroy everything in their path. Before Cailan was dead. Before the Bannorn started squawking. A time when it wasn't terrifying to look into the future, and genuinely not be able to guess what lay ahead.

He took in a deep breath, and felt just a bit of the tension in his shoulders slip away. There was comfort to be had within these stone walls. At least, as long as Loghain didn't allow his mind to travel to the room he kept upstairs, and one particular evening he'd spent there, more than a year ago. Those were memories best left untouched.

Ostensibly, Loghain had come to speak with the garrison commander. He also hoped, however, to convince someone to spar with him. With any luck, the physical exertion would tire him enough that he might manage to sleep through the night for once.

The garrison commander, a woman named Alyce, was in her office, along with Ser Cauthrien.

"Good morning, Your Grace," Alyce greeted. "It's good to see you. What can I offer you to drink?"

"Nothing too strong; just a glass of port, if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"What brings you here today, Your Grace," Cauthrien asked, as Loghain settled himself in one of the vacant chairs near Alyce's desk.

"The Bannorn. Bann Bronach in particular."

In recent weeks, Loghain had written to several of the banns, asking them to send soldiers to march south and protect Vintiver, Oswin and Winter's Breath, all of which seemed likely to be imminent targets of the darkspawn.

Cauthrien arched a brow. "I take it he's not willing to send troops?"

"No. I had a message from him this morning. He refuses to send even one single soldier to fight the darkspawn, or help secure the borders. And I've heard nothing at all from any of the others. I get the feeling Bronach has elected himself their ringleader, and feels he speaks for the entire Bannorn. Perhaps the others have even agreed for him to speak for them. Regardless, his refusal, and the silence of the others, is unacceptable."

"What are they playing at?" Alyce handed Loghain a glass, and pulled her chair around to the front of the desk before she sat down. She was a handsome woman, tall, with blonde hair and the sort of skin that burned easily in the sun. Her amber eyes were graced by wrinkles at their corners now, but were still as warm as they had ever been. Alyce had been in command of Fort Drakon for a decade, and had been stationed here for nearly twice as long. Before that, she'd been a member of the palace guard, until certain events necessitated a transfer of duties. When she'd asked to be removed from the palace, Loghain had made it clear this was a horizontal transfer; he never wanted to give Alyce, nor any of the few people who knew what had happened, any reason to think she was being punished or demoted.

She'd flourished at Fort Drakon, so much so that, when the previous commander retired, Urien Kendells had put her in charge of the fort. It was a comfortable arrangement for everyone, and Loghain trusted her with the garrison completely.

"After Lothering," she continued, "you'd think they'd realize the urgency of coming together to fight the darkspawn."

"That would be the logical response," Loghain replied. "But when has the Bannorn ever exhibited anything resembling logic? Quite the opposite, in fact. Bronach cited Lothering as the reason he can't spare any troops; he says they're needed to protect his own lands. But that's just an excuse. He knows full well that Hafter River is in no imminent danger. What the man's doing is not only stupid, it's treason."

"Not everyone will see it that way, though," Cauthrien said thoughtfully. "Technically, his refusal isn't treasonous until there is a monarch on the throne. I've heard the men talking; you're right about Bronach making himself the spokesperson. He's put himself forward as the voice of an oppressed Bannorn."

"Oppressed?" Loghain scoffed. "That fool doesn't know the meaning of the word."

"I know that, but he is making a lot of noise, and there are those who are inclined to listen." Cauthrien shrugged. "Some because they believe him, and others because it's a convenient lie upon which they can hang their own cowardice." She paused. "Why not just call a Landsmeet, and have Anora officially confirmed?"

A good question, one he'd asked himself dozens of times over the past few weeks. But every time he thought it through, he came to the same conclusion: "I cannot guarantee she'll have enough support. And if we rush into this, before I'm certain she will be confirmed, we run the risk of ending up with another foolish king on the throne, rather than someone who can be trusted to lead Ferelden through this crisis."

"It's hard to think of anyone else with a strong claim to the throne," Cauthrien said. "Bryce Cousland would have been the obvious choice, if he were alive, but now?" She shook her head. "I've heard a few names put forward, although none of them seem to have any strong support. Leonas Bryland is well-liked, but most people seem to agree he doesn't have the right temperament to be king. Gallagher Wulff, perhaps, or Sighard Davies. I've heard Teagan Guerrin's name mentioned once or twice. Apparently, he made quite a stir the last time you spoke to the nobility?"

"That he did." Teagan was the one who started all this dissension in the Bannorn, although, to be fair, Bronach and the rest of the banns were more than capable of being disgruntled without any encouragement.

"He is a popular man, and might be able to gather the support of the Bannorn. Even so, on the whole, there doesn't seem to be any one person with a strong measure of support. And the queen is still very popular. Definitely with the people, and with much of the nobility, or so it seems."

"For what it's worth," Alyce began, "I've heard rumors that Eamon Guerrin is indisposed. So there might never be a better time to act, and act quickly."

Loghain arched a brow. "What have you heard about Eamon?"

"That he suffers from an unexplained illness, one so serious that the arlessa has sent out all of Redcliffe's knights in search of some mystical cure. Andraste's ashes."

"Ashes?" Loghain scoffed. "That's nothing more than a fairy tale." Also quite unnecessary; that mage fellow had an antidote, for whenever Loghain decided the time was right. Of course, Isolde could have no way of knowing that, and it was certainly no skin off Loghain's nose if the arlessa wanted to waste her time on a wild goose chase.

"That's what I thought, as well," Alyce said. "And those knights would be put to better use fighting darkspawn." She paused. "I do think it might be prudent to call a Landsmeet. Now . . . before any new claimants might appear?"

The woman's expression revealed little of her thoughts, but she caught and held Loghain's gaze.

He nodded, slowly. "Yes. Perhaps you're right. I will speak with Anora about the possibility of calling a Landsmeet as soon as Bronach has been dealt with."

Alyce leaned back in her chair. "Since you're here, I suspect that means you want soldiers?"

"Yes," he replied. "With the situation as it is now – politically, and in light of the darkspawn – it seems imprudent to march on Hafter River with only a token force. And perhaps being confronted with a full company of soldiers will help convince Bronach that he needs to cooperate."

"I agree," said Cauthrien. "If they feel you are weak, they'll just ignore whatever you say or worse yet, arrange for some sort of an 'accident.' Show them right from the start that you're not playing games."

"My thoughts exactly. And I would like you to accompany me when I speak with Bronach."

"Of course."

"When do you plan to leave Denerim?" Alyce asked.

"In about two weeks' time."

"Very well. How many men do you need? As you're aware, we're stretched a bit thin at the moment."

Another reminder of how crucial it was for the Bannorn to cooperate; there were few enough soldiers to fight the darkspawn after the defeat at Ostagar, and most of Loghain's Gwaren troops were defending the borders. He needed to recruit more soldiers, as soon as possible. He might even have to resort to conscripting villagers and petty criminals. Or perhaps put out a call to the Alienage, asking for volunteers. He'd done that once, very successfully, with the Night Elves. Perhaps it would be possible again.

Either way, Ferelden couldn't afford not to have the support of the Bannorn. The sooner Bronach was brought to heel, the better.

"Perhaps eighty men," he replied. "If you can spare them."

"Of course. That will be no problem. I'll make sure to choose soldiers who aren't likely to have direct ties to the Hafter River bannric." She paused. "While you're here, Commander, there is another matter or two I'd like to bring to your attention."

"Yes?"

"First, I'm sure it will come as no surprise, but we're beginning to run short on funds for supplies. I've got provisions for the men for at least another two months, but after that, I will need money to pay the merchants who supply our grains and meat. It seems they've raised prices, probably in response to the troubles in the south, but it means I'm not able to stretch things quite as far as I could before."

Loghain suppressed a groan. If they were already having trouble keeping the soldiers fed, how much worse would it be once Loghain managed to recruit more men? He genuinely had no idea where the money would come from to support additional troops, let alone the ones they already had.

"Thank you, Alyce. I am aware of the problem, and will do whatever needs to be done to make sure you have the provisions you need."

"Thank you, ser." She paused. "And there is one more thing." A crease formed across her forehead. That didn't bode well. Whatever it was she had to say, it seemed likely to be unpleasant. What could be more unpleasant than the fact Ferelden was broke while facing an army of darkspawn?

"Vaughan Kendells is missing, and there's trouble in the Alienage," she said.

"Vaughan Kendells?" Loghain leaned forward in his seat. "That you've brought these two things up together suggests they are connected?"

"Presumably so, yes."

"Give me the details. From the start."

"Of course." Alyce paused. "There was an . . . incident. About a week ago. A wedding was disrupted by a group of human noblemen - Kendells, along with lords Joraley and Braden. Two elven couples were supposed to be married by Mother Boann, but the wedding never took place."

Maker's balls.

"How bad was it?" No need to beat around the bush. If Vaughan Kendells was involved, there was no way anything about this would be pleasant.

"Reasonably bad." She took a deep breath. "All information I have about the original incident comes from Mother Boann. She said she had the feeling that when they arrived at the wedding, that wasn't the start of things. That, based on some of the things that were said, Vaughan had been in the Alienage earlier in the day, and there'd been some sort of trouble. She didn't know details about any of that, but what she did witness was unpleasant enough. The noblemen and their guards interrupted the wedding, violently. Mother Boann said he claimed to be having a party and was in need of guests. Female guests." She paused, and shook her head. "Then they took both brides, along with three other elven women."

"Took them?" Loghain sat up straight. "What do you mean they took them? Are you saying Vaughan Kendells kidnapped women from the Alienage?"

"Yes. He knocked at least one of them unconscious, and dragged the others away."

Maker's balls. This was beyond the pale, even for Kendells.

"Where did he take them?"

"Apparently, back to the Denerim Estate."

A wave of nausea rolled over him. "What happened after that?"

"Well, things were rather chaotic, as you might expect. Thankfully, Mother Boann was able to get out of the Alienage safely immediately after Kendells and the others left. Of course, from that point forward, all of the reports we've heard are of questionable validity. But from what I've managed to piece together, a group of men from the Alienage managed to arm themselves, and they went to the estate to rescue their women. Joraley was able to get out unharmed, and Braden received some injuries, but nothing life-threatening. A few of Kendells' guards were killed, and some of the elves as well."

"And what about Kendells?"

"According to Braden and Joraley both, Vaughan was alive the last time they saw him."

"But you now have some reason to believe he might be dead?"

"I don't know. It's just that he hasn't been seen since that day. Although no body has turned up, either. But it wouldn't surprise me if something . . . happened to him. My guess is that some of the elves returned to the estate after Braden and Joraley left, and killed Kendells, and then hid the body. They probably think they can't be brought to justice for having murdered a man if there's no proof that he's actually dead. Perhaps they weighted his body and dumped it in the river, or they might have hidden it somewhere in the Alienage."

Loghain rubbed at his forehead. With all the other problems in the world right now, the last thing he needed was trouble in the Alienage. Or trouble with Vaughan Kendells, damn the man.

"I had my people search the Denerim Estate, as soon as Vaughan was reported missing," Alyce continued. "And Rendon Howe sent soldiers into the Alienage to search for Kendells or some evidence of his murder."

Rendon Howe had involved himself in this? What in the Maker's name was the man thinking? Actually, it was easy to guess what he was thinking: if Vaughan was really dead, Howe would want the arling for himself.

"Did he find anything useful?"

"No, and . . . well, from what I've heard his guards were rather enthusiastic in trying to get answers. Which leads us to the final problem: now, the elves are rioting."

Loghain sat back in his chair. Maker's balls. He took in a slow breath, to calm himself.

"What have you done about the rioting?"

"Nothing. I thought it would be best to pull everyone out of the Alienage, lock the gates, and leave the elves to their own devices until things calm down. It means we can't search for Vaughan, but it also means there's no risk of anyone else being harmed. Besides, if Vaughan is in the Alienage, there's almost no chance he's still alive."

Somehow, that particular thought troubled Loghain not at all. The man was vile garbage, he'd proven that time and time again. It was just unfortunate that the Alienage was now in an uproar because of him.

Alyce shrugged. "To be honest, what's happening in the Alienage isn't terribly out of the ordinary. They do rile themselves up on a regular basis, after all. The last time things were this bad, Cailan ordered a purge, which Arl Urien approved. I thought perhaps you might want to initiate some sort of action like that again now?"

"I'm not the one to speak to about this," Loghain replied. "I have no jurisdiction over the Alienage."

"Not under usual circumstances," Alyce replied. "Normally, I'd ask the arl of Denerim. But in the absence of an arl – or even the arl's miscreant son - the arling falls under the domain of the queen. And as her regent, I thought you would be the best one to handle this."

She did have a point. Something would have to be done. But what? If he'd known about this before it had gotten out of hand, it would have been much easier to deal with. But now? It was times like this that he missed Uthalas, and the man's good advice, more than ever.

"Fair enough. It's premature to talk about another purge just yet. I'll think on what needs to be done, and speak with Anora about it. For now, just keep an eye on things and let me know if anything changes. Or if Vaughan turns up, dead or alive. In the meantime, please begin preparations for a march on Hafter River."

"As you wish."

Loghain turned to Cauthrien. "And now, if you don't have any pressing business, I had hoped we might spend a few minutes in the practice yard?"

"Of course, Your Grace." One corner of Cauthrien's mouth curved up in a smile." I have nothing pressing. I'll be more than happy to spar."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Kevin, Amanda Kitswell, Psyche Sinclair, and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my fabulous reviewers: KatDancer, Yarnandtea, ImJudgingYou, Irish_Changeling, and Riptide. 
> 
> I apologize for the delay with this chapter. I'm hitting the end-of-semester crunch at school right now, so my time for editing has been limited. The next chapter might be delayed as well, but after that, I'll be on summer break, and it should be smooth sailing for the next several months.


	36. Just as Duncan conscripted me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and Alistair return to Redcliffe.

_**8 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon** _   
_**Redcliffe Castle** _

‹›‹O›‹›

An archer raised her bow. She nocked an arrow with its tip set aflame, pulled back her arm, and with a release of two fingers, let the arrow fly. It soared in an arc over the water, and landed directly on target. The small boat that floated on the placid surface of Lake Calenhad burst into flames, along with the body it carried. More than a dozen floating pyres were already ablaze on the surface of the lake, and there were still many more villagers to be sent off to the Maker in this way.

It was a beautiful sight, really, although unutterably sad. But Rhianna knew it was the first step Redcliffe would take in moving past recent events. Before the people of this town could rebuild, they needed to properly mourn their dead.

At least the problems that plagued Redcliffe were at an end - the demon inside of Connor Guerrin had been destroyed, and the walking undead along with it.

Three days earlier, Rhianna and Alistair had arrived at the Circle Tower to a somewhat less than warm welcome.

"Wardens." First Enchanter Irving's smile hadn't reached all the way to his eyes. "It is a . . . pleasure to see you again so soon, although I must admit, somewhat unexpected." He paused. "Surely, you realize we're not prepared to send any further assistance against the Blight at this time."

"I understand that," Rhianna replied. "We're not here about the Blight. It's another matter that brings us to the Circle. Something else entirely. Perhaps we could speak in private?"

"Of course." Irving ushered them into an unpopulated room; there seemed to be no shortage of empty spaces like this, with so few people in residence. Once they were seated, Irving asked, "So, if this is not about the Blight, why are you here?"

"We're here on behalf of Eamon Guerrin's son," Rhianna began. "The boy has shown signs of magic."

"The Arl of Redcliffe's son is a mage?" Irving arched a brow. "That is unexpected. Well, I suppose such things are always unexpected, aren't they? But it seems especially so when it's a member of the nobility." He pursed his lips. "But that still doesn't explain why you are here. This hardly sounds like the sort of thing the Grey Wardens would involve themselves in. How old is the boy?"

"He's ten," Rhianna replied. "And you're right. There is more to the story. We're involved because we arrived in Redcliffe to find things in a bad state. The arlessa had hoped to keep Connor's magic a secret from everyone. Including his father."

Irving leaned forward. "Every time I have heard a story begin that way, it ended in disaster."

"I wish I could tell you this was different." Rhianna shrugged. "But it isn't. The arlessa found an apostate - Jowan, in fact - to tutor the boy. Only . . . well, it's a complicated series of events, some of which I don't fully understand, but the long and short of it is that Connor managed to use one of Jowan's spell books to summon a demon."

"The boy has become an abomination?"

"Yes," Alistair confirmed. "That's exactly what happened."

"He's not controlled by the demon all the time, though," Rhianna added. "That's why we're here. I understand there is a way to free Connor Guerrin from the demon without killing the boy. A ritual of some sort."

Irving's gaze narrowed. "There is a ritual, yes. It's rather involved, and not something we do very often. But I suppose for the son of an arl, we do have the resources here to perform this ritual. Have you brought the boy with you?"

"No," Rhianna replied. "And I don't think it will be possible to bring him to the Circle; I doubt the demon would allow that. So I thought perhaps you, and some of the other mages, could come to Redcliffe, and bring whatever supplies you need."

Irving let out a slow breath. "You ask a great deal. Especially now. We've yet to clear away all the debris of our recent . . . troubles. Let alone begin rebuilding. This ritual would make quite a dent in our lyrium stores, and I hardly have mages to spare at the moment."

"I understand." She held his gaze. "Even so, I would like to see it done."

"Why? Why does this matter so much to you?"

She wouldn't talk about Oren, or Teagan, or Isolde's tearstained face, or any of the other reasons that made her chest feel tight when she thought about them. So she gave only the most pragmatic. "A boy's life is at stake. A boy who was too young to know that he was doing something wrong, making a horrible mistake. If there's a way to save him, don't we have a responsibility to do it? Especially," she lifted a brow, "since the apostate in question escaped from this Circle, and none of this would have happened if he'd not ended up in Redcliffe."

Irving hesitated. "Of course." He gave a shallow nod. "It shall be done." He stood, crossed to the doorway, and spoke to a templar who stood just outside. "Please tell Elspeth I would like to speak with her." Irving turned back to his guests. "I trust that Wynne is there, in Redcliffe?"

"Yes, she is."

"Good. And of course, I'm sure Greagoir will insist on a templar escort for us. Probably two." He sighed. "Perhaps I should look at this as an adventure. I must admit the idea of getting out of the Tower for a few days does sound pleasant. As long as we don't get rained on." He shook his head, and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he caught Rhianna's gaze. "Jowan is involved in this, you say? How in the world did he end up in Redcliffe?"

"That's something I'm not entirely clear on. Apparently, he was hired to tutor Connor. Arlessa Isolde wanted someone to train the boy just enough that he could hide his magic, and no one would ever have to find out. But for some reason, Jowan poisoned Arl Eamon - I have no idea why - and that is what drove Connor to experiment with Jowan's books. The boy was trying to help his father."

"Jowan _poisoned_ the arl? That's-"

"I beg your pardon, First Enchanter." A woman stood in the doorway. "You asked to speak with me."

Something about her seemed familiar, but when the woman glanced in Rhianna's direction, no spark of recognition flickered in her face.

"Ah, yes. Elspeth. Please come in," Irving said. "I need you to speak to Owain about gathering supplies for a ritual. Lyrium, enough to cast a protective ward that will allow a mage to enter the Fade."

"Of course, First Enchanter." Her voice was calm, and her tone remarkably flat, almost as though she were asleep and only dreaming the conversation. "When do you wish the supplies to be ready."

"As soon as possible. We'll be taking them with us to Redcliffe. And I would like you to inform Neria and Petra that they will accompany me; please ask them to prepare."

"Neria and Petra are to prepare for a journey to Redcliffe." This must have been an unusual request, but Elspeth's face showed no surprise. "Of course, First Enchanter. When will you be leaving?"

"As soon as you can gather the supplies."

"Of course, First Enchanter. I will bring the supplies to the boat dock promptly." As the woman turned, Rhianna remembered where she had seen her before.

"Elspeth? Wait."

The woman turned to face Rhianna. "Yes?"

"We've met before, haven't we? A few weeks ago, when the Circle was under attack."

"Yes, we have met," she intoned. "You are the woman who spared my life."

Maker.

It really was her. The blood mage they'd found, the one who promised to go to the Chantry for penance. But what was wrong with her? Why hadn't she said anything, or even acknowledged that they had met before? And what was the reason for the strange way she spoke, the constant sameness of her voice?

"You do remember. I wasn't sure. It didn't seem as though you recognized me."

"Of course I remember. It was an uncomfortable time that I would rather forget, but I was grateful for your kindness."

"I suppose I'm surprised that you're still here. I thought you intended to go to the Chantry."

"That was my intention." All her words were evenly spaced, and said in the same calm tone. "But the templars found me and I was given a choice."

"A choice?"

"To be executed for my crimes, or to volunteer for Tranquility."

Oh. That explained it. She had been made Tranquil. What was it Solona had said? That Tranquility cut a mage off from the Fade, and robbed them of their dreams and emotions?

Maker.

"Elspeth," Irving urged, "you should go now, and see to the tasks I gave you."

"Of course, First Enchanter." With a soft swish of her robes, she was gone.

Rhianna swallowed, and turned to Irving. "Is she always like that?"

Irving seemed surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

"She just seemed so . . . dazed."

"Oh." Irving chuckled. "No, she's fine. As she said, Elspeth is one of the Tranquil." He paused. "Or perhaps you are not aware of them?"

"Solona mentioned them, once, but I think this is first time I've met one."

"Ah, yes. Of course. I suppose it must seem . . . unusual, until you are accustomed to the way they speak."

"Well, yes. Is she always so . . . flat?"

"Yes, that is one effect of the Rite of Tranquility."

"And you allowed that to be done to her?"

"She was a blood mage. There was no way the Templars would have allowed her to keep her magic. Would you rather she were dead?"

Rhianna's brow furrowed. "No, of course not. It just seems . . ." She paused. "Solona told me that's why Jowan did what he did. Because he was afraid of being made Tranquil."

Irving nodded. "Yes, that wouldn't surprise me. And surely, you can see that this would have been a necessary step in Jowan's case. Considering he has turned to blood magic, and who knows what other crimes."

Necessary?

"Perhaps if he hadn't feared being made Tranquil, he never would have resorted to blood magic."

"That is an . . . idealistic viewpoint. Understandable, of course, from someone such as yourself. You've never been part of a Circle, and have little experience of mages. But I assure you, it is necessary, sometimes. Regrettable, perhaps, but necessary."

Rhianna made no further argument, but she was far from convinced.

‹›‹O›‹›

Their arrival back in Redcliffe was almost anti-climactic.

Everything was quiet in the castle. The demon had not shown herself at all while Rhianna and Alistair were gone. Perhaps she realized the castle was no longer populated solely by frightened, confused guards, and a woman desperate to save her son's life. The companions Rhianna left behind wouldn't hesitate to kill the demon, had she shown herself again.

It had only taken Irving and the other mages a few minutes to prepare for the ritual that would send Jowan into the Fade. At first, Irving had wanted one of the other mages to go, but Jowan argued that, if the demon proved too powerful to defeat, he should be the one to suffer the consequences, and Irving eventually agreed. The spell was cast, and Jowan slumped to the floor, asleep. Everyone else stood in a circle around him, watching silently; it was impossible to know what was happening in the Fade.

Jowan awoke fifteen minutes later, his face pale and robes stained with sweat, and announced that the demon was gone.

And, indeed, it was. It was obvious just to look at the boy that something had changed. Connor stood straighter, as though no longer weighed down by her presence, and there was a light in his eyes that had been missing before.

Finally, the ordeal was over.

Now, everyone from both castle and village stood on the dock to send those who had died to a proper rest. More than a dozen boats floated in the bay, and there were many more bodies laid out on the dock, awaiting their turn.

At Rhianna's side, Teagan's eyes were hooded and dark, his mouth set in a thin, grim line.

She had the urge to reach across the few inches that separated them, and grasp Teagan's hand. To wrap her fingers around his, offer him comfort, and perhaps be comforted in return.

But something stopped her. At any point in the past, she could have reached for him and not worried the gesture would mean anything more than one friend wishing to comfort another. But now? After the kiss they had shared? She feared he would take it as a sign that she wanted something more.

Which she did. She wanted so much to reach for him. For him to pull her into his arms again, as he had in the windmill. To feel his lips on hers, to lose herself in him, even for just a few hours. And no doubt Teagan would be happy to give her all these things, if she just asked. If she just let her fingers grasp his across the small distance.

But she couldn't. She just couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to him - to either of them - to initiate something that was doomed not to last. She closed her eyes, and breathed deeply through the heat that rose up behind them. She wanted more than anything to not feel so profoundly alone, but the cost was just too high. If she allowed this to happen, it would cause heartache for both of them.

So, she stood at Teagan's side but maintained the space between them.

When she opened her eyes, another boat had been pushed out into the lake, another pyre set ablaze.

So much death.

Perhaps the thing that terrified Rhianna the most was that this carnage was unrelated to the darkspawn. Redcliffe sat far to the south; no doubt the darkspawn would make their way here sooner, rather than later. It was possible the people of this village would suffer still more losses, especially since most of the soldiers who might have defended the town had died during the past few weeks.

There was really only one solution: Rhianna had to find a way to stop the Blight. Quickly.

Was such a thing even possible? She was somewhat fuzzy on the history, but she seemed to recall all the previous blights having lasted years, at least. And the First Blight had gone on for nearly a hundred years even after the Grey Wardens had been founded.

The breath caught in her throat.

A hundred years? Blessed Andraste, Ferelden wouldn't be able to survive even a few years of a Blight, not against a horde the size of the one that had taken the field at Ostagar. And it was Rhianna's duty, and Alistair and Daveth's, to stop it. But how? None of them had any idea what to do to truly end this.

That didn't matter. Rhianna would stop the Blight. She _had_ to stop it. What had the Divine said? _You must be strong, for without you, the darkness will prevail._

Rhianna trembled under the weight of this thought. It couldn't be true. Honestly, what reason was there to think it was true? The Divine was said to receive prophecies directly from the Maker, but the Maker didn't care about anything. Possibly, the Maker didn't even exist.

Still, if it wasn't true, why had the Divine said it? And why, less than a year later, did Rhianna find herself living this life she could have never expected? Rhianna had always been told that she would grow up to do something important, but that was supposed to have meant marrying well and helping her husband administer whatever corner of Ferelden he held, or taking care of Highever after her father's death. This was an entirely different destiny, but perhaps it was truly hers. Certainly, she couldn't turn her back on it, no matter how dreadful it appeared when she tried to glimpse the future, no more than she could have turned her back on the people of Redcliffe.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as she watched far too many of those people be ushered on their last journey, to the side of the Maker.

‹›‹O›‹›

  
After the ceremony, Isolde and Teagan, along with Rhianna and her companions, returned to the castle and gathered in the bedchamber where Eamon lie unconscious. They were joined by Irving and one of his templars, and also by Jowan, who had been brought up from his cell in the dungeon. Irving had agreed to have a look at Eamon, to see if he had any ideas about how the man could be healed.

Asleep, Eamon looked far older than Rhianna remembered him. The lines in his face were etched more deeply; his beard was more thoroughly grey. He didn't appear to be ill, however; he looked as though he were merely asleep. One of his hands twitched slightly, as if responding to something in a dream.

"Whatever the demon did to my brother," Teagan said, "it seems to have spared his life. But he remains comatose. We have not been able to wake him."

"More of Loghain's handiwork." Wynne caught Rhianna's eye.

"What?" Rhianna blinked. "What does Loghain have to do with anything?"

A hush fell over the room, and everyone turned to look at Rhianna. Her stomach fluttered uncomfortably.

"Oh," Daveth murmured. "That's right. You weren't here, so you haven't heard that part yet, have you?"

"Heard what?"

Wynne crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Loghain _is_ the one who hired Jowan to poison Arl Eamon. Jowan admitted as much while you and Alistair were traveling to the Circle." She lifted her chin, as if daring Rhianna to say something to challenge her.

What? Loghain had poisoned Eamon? But why?

"I knew it," Alistair exclaimed. "I knew Loghain had to be involved."

"I'll admit," Teagan began, "this revelation came as a surprise to me, but now I am left to wonder. If Loghain is responsible for my brother's illness, perhaps he also intended for Cailan to die at Ostagar." His voice caught slightly on the last word. "It seems Loghain Mac Tir has a great deal to answer for."

Rhianna turned to Jowan. "I don't understand. Why on earth would Loghain ask you to kill Eamon?"

"Not kill him!" Jowan's eyes grew wide. "I wasn't hired to kill him. I was only supposed to make him sick enough that he wouldn't be able to travel for a couple of weeks. Something that could be reversed later."

Something to keep Eamon from traveling? To Denerim, no doubt. Loghain probably wanted to keep Eamon away from the Landsmeet long enough to put Anora on the throne. Still, hiring an apostate to poison someone seemed rather extreme. Was there some other reason Loghain wanted Eamon out of the way?

"How did Loghain know to send you here in the first place?" Rhianna turned to Isolde. "How did he know you were looking for a tutor? Did you tell Loghain that Connor is a mage?"

"No, I never spoke with the teyrn about it." Isolde hesitated. "I did write to the queen, and ask if she could help me find an apostate to teach Connor in secret how to control his magic. I was so desperate to find help for my son. She must have told her father." A muscle in her jaw clenched. "And to think, I was grateful at first that Queen Anora had done something to help us."

Alistair crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You really had no idea the man you hired to tutor Connor was an assassin?"

"None," she replied. "Jowan said he had come here by request of the queen. Why would I suspect that the mage she sent would be a murderer?"

"I'm not a murderer!" Jowan's voice was high-pitched and strained.

Alistair ignored Jowan's comment, and spoke to Isolde again. "And what did Arl Eamon think of all this? I have a hard time believing he'd agree to have an apostate come live in his home and tutor his son."

"Eamon didn't know." Isolde looked down at the floor, her hands clutched in front of her.

"What do you mean he didn't know?" Alistair took a step forward. "How could you keep something like this from him?"

"How could I keep this from him?" Isolde met Alistair's gaze and lifted her chin. "Because he didn't want to know. Eamon left the raising of Connor to me. If he'd paid more attention, he would have seen the signs, just as I did. But Eamon was too busy to notice. So I did what I thought was best. When I discovered Connor's magic, I was frightened. Not just by the magic, but by the thought of what Eamon might do if he found out."

Alistair's lip curled. "If I were you, I'd be worried about what Eamon is going to do when he wakes up. He's going to be very angry, don't you think?"

"I hardly need you to tell me that," Isolde snapped back. "But I have other things to worry about at the moment. Like the fact that my son is going to be taken from me. Taken away to the Circle." The arlessa's eyes grew bright, and she blinked quickly.

"The Circle is the best place for him," Irving said, not ungently. "There he will receive genuine training, in a place where he will pose no danger to himself or others."

"I . . . I see that now," Isolde replied, although her tone suggested that she didn't really believe it. "Do you intend to take him with you when you return to Kinloch Hold?"

Surprisingly, Irving shook his head. "No, not yet. The Circle . . . well, given the recent tear in the Veil, I'm afraid the Circle is not yet stable enough to bring in a new apprentice. Especially this one. As it is, we've sent the other children to the circle in Jainen until Kinloch Hold has been made safe again. So, I think it will be better for your son to remain here for the time being, under the supervision of a templar."

"The important thing," Wynne said, "is that the boy seems to be back to himself now. When I spoke with him earlier, he claims not to remember anything of this ordeal, which is a blessing. And now, we must focus on restoring the arl back to health."

"Yes," Irving agreed. He turned to Wynne. "What have you tried thus far?"

"All of the healing spells I have at my command. Regular healing had no effect, so I attempted Revival and Cleansing. I even cast a Lifeward, but none of it had any effect. We also administered the antidote to the poison Jowan used, but to no avail."

Antidote? Then Loghain really hadn't intended for Eamon to die. Somehow, that was a comforting thought.

"It should have worked," Jowan said. "I know I created it properly." He shrugged. "I'm guessing that something the demon did affected the arl in a way that made the antidote not work. Or maybe he's no longer poisoned at all, but just in some sort of a dream state trapped in the Fade."

"If he is trapped in the Fade, could you not go in to rescue him?" Leliana asked. "The same way you went into destroy Connor's demon?"

"I actually tried that," Jowan replied. "I saw Eamon while I was in the Fade, but he wouldn't listen to anything I had to say. He sounded . . . confused. But I did try. I don't know, maybe someone else could have better luck than I did."

"I doubt it would help," Irving said thoughtfully. "He is probably not trapped in the Fade - certainly, he's no longer trapped in that particular demon's vision, now that she's dead. He is merely there because his body is sleeping. And regardless, we don't have the supplies to send you - or another mage - back into the Fade." He leaned closer to Eamon, and took one of the man's hands in his own. " This sleep is clearly unnatural, but like nothing I have seen before."

Irving muttered soft words, and a bluish glow swirled into life around his hands. He turned his palms to face the arl's body, and pushed the healing magic downward, but the tendrils of mist merely slid down the arl's sides and pooled on the bed, before dissolving away into nothing.

"The magic refuses to penetrate his body," Irving mused aloud. "This would indicate there is nothing physically wrong with him - no injury that needs to be healed. I would say the antidote very likely did work, in removing the poison from his system. Unfortunately, whatever the demon did is not something mere healing can counteract."

"Surely," Isolde begged, "there is something you can do?"  
"I think the best thing for me to do is return to the Circle Tower at once," Irving replied. "I will search the library there, to see if I can find anything that may work as a cure, and there are a few other healers I can write to, see if they have heard of anything of this nature. But for now, there is nothing I can think of to do here that has not already been done."

"We are leaving, then?" This, from the templar, who had stood silently by the door throughout the whole conversation.

"Yes," Irving replied. "As soon as the boat can be made ready."

The templar crossed to Jowan, and took the mage roughly by the arm. "You'll be coming with us."

"What? No!" Jowan's voice was laced with panic. "I . . . please, no."

"Jowan, you had to know it would come to this," Irving said mildly. "Did you think you would be allowed to go free?"

"No." His shoulders slumped. "But I didn't think . . ." His voice trailed off miserably.

"What will happen to him?" Leliana's voice was strained.

"He will be given the Rite of Tranquility," Irving said.

"No!" Jowan's panic turned to terror. "Please, no."

Irving arched a brow. "The only other option," he turned to Isolde, "is if you would prefer to have him executed here for his crimes?"

Jowan whimpered, although it was difficult to tell which of the two he found more terrifying.

"I . . . no." Isolde shook her head. "That would not be for me to say. Eamon is the one who has been wronged; it would be for him to pass judgment. Jowan can remain locked up in the dungeon until Eamon is cured, but if you are willing to take this out of my hands, so be it."

"Very well."

"Please," Jowan begged, "at least allow me to attempt my Harrowing. I can do it! You know I can. I defeated Connor's demon in the Fade. I'm stronger than you think!"

"Be that as it may," Irving replied, "you have used blood magic. There is no turning back from that, as well you know. You've proven yourself untrustworthy. There's no way I can in good conscience agree to allow you to be Harrowed. Be grateful I am willing to consider Tranquility; I have no doubt Greagoir will take me to task for it upon our return, and insist on your execution. I will try to argue against it, and give you the opportunity to do some good, to make up for all the damage you have done."

Jowan cringed, and tried to pull away from the templar, but the man held tight on the mage's arm.

"Wait." Rhianna stepped forward and the word slipped from between her lips before she'd made a conscious decision to speak.

Everyone turned to look at her.

"Let go of his arm," she continued. "He's not coming with you."

"I"m sorry, what?" Irving frowned.

"Jowan won't be returned to the Circle. I would like to recruit him for the Grey Wardens."

"The Grey Wardens?" Irving arched a brow.

"What?" Alistair said simultaneously, an expression of confusion on his face. "You want to recruit _him_? But he's a blood mage?"

"Yes, and there are three Wardens right now in the whole of Ferelden. We need all the help we can get." She turned to Jowan. "Assuming you would be willing?"

"Me? A Grey Warden?" He glanced at the templar. "Where do I sign up?"

"Not so fast." Wynne stepped forward. "The first enchanter has sentenced this man to the Rite of Tranquility, which is, frankly, more than Jowan deserves. You can't just recruit whoever you like."

"Actually, I can."

She wasn't even sure why she was arguing about this. Why did she care? Jowan didn't seem all that promising, to be honest. Was it that he'd been Solona's friend?

No. It was the slack expression on Elspeth's face, an expression that had haunted Rhianna since her most recent visit to the tower. How the life was missing from her voice, and her eyes. Gone was the woman who had passionately argued for freedom, and in her her place was something that seemed hardly a person anymore. Rhianna's stomach churned at the thought of that same lifeless expression on Jowan's face.

Besides, she wanted very much to have the chance to speak with him in private, and learn why Loghain had sent him here to poison Eamon.

"The Grey Wardens have the Right of Conscription," Rhianna continued. "I have the right to conscript anyone, just as Duncan conscripted me." She looked at Alistair. "Just as Duncan conscripted you, over the objections of the Grand Cleric." She glanced around the room. "Do you really mean to tell me that anyone in this room has more authority over the Grey Wardens than the Grand Cleric of Ferelden? If she couldn't stop your conscription, Alistair, I don't see how anyone can stop me conscripting Jowan."

"You would do this?" Teagan frowned. "You would spare the life of the man responsible for my brother's illness?"

This stung, but before Rhianna could reply, Leliana stepped forward. "She's right. The Wardens do have the Right of Conscription. And I would like to think that Jowan deserves a second chance. He was only doing what he was hired to do, by a man he had no reason not to trust."

"But he's a blood mage," Wynne insisted. "You risk unleashing yet another abomination on this world if he is not kept under close supervision."

"He'll be under supervision." Rhianna turned to Alistair. "You trained to be a templar. You can do all the things templars do to control mages, can't you? I could swear I saw you knock out a whole room full of mages when we were at the Circle."

"I . . . um, well, yes." Alistair's cheeks turned pink. "I do know templar skills . . ."

"Then that's settled." Rhianna turned her gaze to Irving. "Surely, this makes things easier for you, as well."

The first enchanter shrugged. "I doubt you'll get much use out of him. He has never been a powerful mage. But I will not try and keep you from recruiting him, if you think he can be of some help against the Blight."

Wynne made an unhappy noise, but didn't argue further.

"Thank you!" Jowan crossed the room to stand beside Rhianna, as though he expected the templar to try and drag him away. Rhianna glanced at Teagan; his brow was creased, and his eyes looked unhappy. Disappointed.

"With that settled," Irving said, "I think it's time for the rest of us to return to the Circle." To Isolde, "Ser Hugh will remain here in Redcliffe, to watch over your son until such time as the Circle is prepared to accept him for training."

Isolde nodded. "Thank you. Thank you so much for coming all this way, and helping to save my son's life."

Irving's expression softened. "You are more than welcome, my lady."

With that, Irving and his templar escort left the room, and for the space of a few breaths, no one spoke.

Finally, Teagan turned to Rhianna. "We need to talk about what to do next."

"Do next? What do you mean? The threat to the village has ended, Connor and Isolde are safe. My companions and I need to move on, to Orzammar to speak with the dwarves as I had originally planned."

"But what about Eamon?" Teagan's brow was deeply creased. "We're going to need him if we're to get Ferelden through this Blight. And after all you were able to do here, I have no doubt you could do something to restore him to health."

Eamon? Teagan wanted her to figure out how to heal Eamon?

"I . . . appreciate your faith in me, but I'm not sure what more there is we can do. Our healer was not able to help him. The First Enchanter was not able to help him. What more am I supposed to do?

"The Urn." Isolde turned to look at her husband lying still on the bed. "The Urn of Sacred Ashes is our best hope for saving Eamon."

"There has been a great deal of talk about this urn," Morrigan began, "but very little said about just what it truly is, and why anyone believes it might actually help this man heal. I know it is said to be the earthly remains of your prophet, but beyond that?" She shrugged, with an unspoken question.

"My husband funded the research of a scholar in Denerim, a Brother Genitivi," Isolde explained. "He has been studying the inscription on Andraste's birth rock, and he believes the ashes are here in Ferelden, and is trying to find them."

That sounded familiar . . . yes, Genitivi was the name of the man who had come to the Landsmeet last year, asking for funding to continue his project.

"When Eamon fell ill," Isolde continued, "I sent the knights to Genitivi. I hoped that he had finally discovered the location of the Urn itself, and could go and collect enough of the ashes to heal my husband. But the knights were unable to locate him. In desperation, I sent more knights in search of the brother or some clue of the Urn's location." She turned to Rhianna. "You could find the Urn. I truly believe it is the only thing that will bring my husband out of this sickness."

"You want us to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Rhianna shook her head. "But you've already sent knights out across Ferelden in search of it. I'm a Grey Warden. My duty is to defeat the darkspawn, and find a way to end this Blight. I need to travel to Orzammar, as well as locate the Dalish clans in the Brecilian Forest. I'm sorry, but I can't agree to go off on a search for a holy relic. Not with darkspawn massing in the south."

"But my knights have not been able to find it."

"Perhaps they have not found it," Morrigan said, "because it does not exist. It seems to me you are asking us to waste our time on a wild goose chase. Even if these ashes do exist, there is no assurance that they have some sort of magical healing properties. I doubt such a thing is even possible. There is no magic of which I am aware that could imbue the remains of a dead woman with that sort of power."

"But the powers of the beloved Prophet go beyond all magic," Isolde insisted.

"Even if that is true," Rhianna said, "I'm not sure what we can do to help. I see no reason to think we would be able to find something that your knights could not."

"Won't you at least try?" Teagan crossed the room to stand before Rhianna. "You came here for Eamon's support, and I have no doubt that he will give you his wholehearted support once he is able. Surely, you wish to restore Eamon to health as much as I do."

That wasn't true, but Rhianna could hardly say that to the man's brother.

"If you are so adamant that this urn is the only thing that will cure your brother," Morrigan said, "why don't you go out and seek it yourself?"

Teagan turned to her, a crease across his forehead. "With my brother ill, it falls to me to organize Eamon's knights as they return, draft new soldiers, and prepare the army to fight. Redcliffe must be able to defend itself against the darkspawn. Even if I wished to seek the Urn myself, I cannot abandon Redcliffe to its own devices." He turned back to Rhianna. "That is why I am asking . . . why I am begging for you to do this. You have proven quite . . . formidable."

"I . . . " It was difficult to say no to Teagan. Part of her wanted to say yes, because it was what he wanted to hear, and because she cared for him, and hated the thought of disappointing him. But her duty truly did lie elsewhere.

And the longer Eamon remained asleep, the better her chances of staying out of a nasty political mess. Her life, and especially Alistair's, would be much, much simpler if Eamon didn't awaken until after Anora had taken the throne.

"I'm sorry, but I have the darkspawn to contend with. I think the best thing is to wait to hear from Irving, to see if his research yields any answers."

"Rhianna, please." Teagan grasped her shoulders. "You will need Eamon if you hope to defeat the darkspawn. He is respected and powerful here in the south. No one else will be able to bring all of Ferelden together under one banner and fight both Loghain and the Blight."

Oh Maker. Now Teagan was convinced that Loghain was a threat as well? Fair enough, if he had truly sent a mage to poison Eamon. Still, this hardly made things any easier.

Teagan held her gaze. "And if that's not enough, remember this is my brother's life we're talking about."

"Don't talk to me about brothers, Teagan," she said evenly. "My own brother is in the Korcari Wilds, and if I had time to spend on searching, don't you think I'd be looking for him? I'm not, because I have another duty to fulfill first. I don't have the luxury of being able to do what I want. And at least you know your brother is here, and safe from harm. I don't even know if Fergus still lives. My companions and I cannot go off after some holy relic that may or may not even exist. Convincing the dwarves and the Dalish to honor these treaties has to be my highest priority."

"I see." Teagan released his hold on her, and took a step back. "You have made that abundantly clear, my lady." He paused. "If your business leads you elsewhere, then so be it." His eyes searched her face, and his expression tightened. Then he turned on his heel and strode from the room.

‹›‹O›‹›

There were several hours of daylight left, and Rhianna decided they would make use of them for traveling. She had intended to spend the night here at the castle, in the comfort of a real bed, but now all she wanted was to be away from Redcliffe as soon as possible. Teagan was angry with her, and Alistair and Wynne kept glaring, no doubt about Jowan, and she just needed to be on the move again, working toward something tangible. The dwarves in Orzammar. Speaking to them was a goal she could accomplish in some reasonable amount of time.

Rhianna left the main hall of the castle, and sat on the steps in the courtyard while she waited for the others to gather their things.

As she sat and looked out at the bridge that lay beyond the castle gates, anger bubbled up inside of her. She was doing her best, but there was no way she could please everyone. Did she sacrifice all of Ferelden to the Blight, in an attempt to save one man's life? Should she have let Jowan be stripped of his humanity, to please Alistair and Wynne? No matter what she did, someone was angry with her, arguing with her, eager to speak out against her.

A noise came from behind. Rhianna turned to see that Lady Isolde had followed her out of the castle.

"May I join you?"

"Of course," Rhianna agreed.

Isolde settled herself gingerly on one of the steps, as though unaccustomed to sitting in anything other than a chair. She turned to Rhianna, and took in a breath. "I owe you my deepest thanks. I had nearly . . . I can scarcely believe Connor is the boy he once was." Isolde reached out and took one of Rhianna's hands. "You saved my son's life . . . as well as my own. I will always be thankful to you for that."

All of Rhianna's anger melted away at the gratitude that shone in the older woman's eyes.

"You're more than welcome. I'm just glad we were able to help. And I am sorry I can't promise to seek the Urn, as you have asked. But I can't just ignore the darkspawn in favor of going off on this quest. I do promise to keep my eyes and ears open on our travels, though, and when we return to Denerim, I will seek out Brother Genitivi. I met him last year, briefly."

"I understand," Isolde replied. "And please do not feel troubled. You have already done so much, and I truly appreciate all of it. If you can find Genitivi and the Urn, that would be wonderful, but I understand you have a duty that comes first. I do have one more favor to ask of you, however. Just a small favor, if you don't mind." Isolde reached into her pocket and withdrew an amulet on a silver chain. "This belongs to Alistair, but somehow, I doubt he would accept it from me."

Isolde put the amulet in Rhianna's hand. It was a holy symbol made of porcelain, and the surface was covered with cracks, as though it had shattered and been repaired.

Maker. This must be his mother's amulet. He'd told her that he'd thrown it across the room when he learned he was being sent to the Chantry. Could this really be it? It had to be.

"He left it here when he was taken to the Chantry," Isolde said. "Well, he didn't really leave it. He tried to destroy it in a fit of anger. But he was so young, and it was the only thing he had of his mother's. So, when Eamon asked the servants to sweep up the pieces, I stopped them from throwing it all away. I repaired it as best as I could, and I've had it all this time. If you would please return it to him, I would be grateful."

"Of course. I'm sure he'll be very happy to have it. Thank you."

"No, thank you. For all you have done. I wish you well on your travels."

‹›‹O›‹›

When Rhianna and her companions were halfway across the bridge that connected Redcliffe Castle to the rest of the village, a man's voice called out.

"Rhianna!"

She turned, to see Teagan hurrying toward her. She stopped, and waited for him to catch up.

"I . . ." He panted for breath. "I . . . didn't expect you to leave so quickly." He stepped close, and put his hands on her shoulders. "Rhianna, I fear I owe you yet another apology. I'm sorry. For how I behaved back there. Sorry, if I seemed angry." He paused. "Well, of course I _am_ angry. Angry about so many things, mostly at Loghain. But I'm not angry with you, I swear it. It wasn't right of me to take my anger out on you, and it certainly wasn't right for me to try and make further demands, when you've already done so much. I know you have a duty elsewhere, one you didn't take on lightly. It was selfish of me, and wrong, to put my brother's well-being ahead of the rest of Ferelden. So, I'm sorry."

"You . . . you don't owe me any apology. I know this has been difficult for you. Difficult for all of us. Sometimes it feels as though everything's gone . . . mad. In such a short time."

"Yes, it does feel that way. But I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful. Without you we might all be dead now, and even though I am still worried for my brother, I am thankful that Isolde and Connor are safe. So thank you, for all you've done."

"You're welcome. And I won't forget about Eamon. If I hear anything about the ashes, I will look into it."

"I know you will." He reached up a cradled her face in his palm. "You are really a marvel."

He swayed forward, slightly, as though he intended to kiss her again.

No. That was not what she wanted. Not now, not like this. She didn't want to be kissed on her way out of town, not knowing when she would return. She didn't want to ignite feelings inside of her that would burn unhappily when she was forced to walk away. And she didn't want to give this man hope that there could someday be something between them, when that was almost certainly not true.

Quickly, she leaned forward, and pressed her lips to Teagan's cheek. Then, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close for just a moment. He returned the embrace, and when they released one another, he gave her a crooked smile, as though he understood. He ran his thumb down her cheek and along the line of her jaw.

"Be safe, my lady. Walk with the Maker. And I hope very much that you and I shall see one another again someday soon. Under . . . different circumstances."

Rhianna reached up and placed her hand over his, pressing his palm against her face. "We'll see one another again. And perhaps then, things will be different."

But would things be different? Would time make any difference at all? She would always be a Grey Warden, and he would always be the Bann of Rainesfere, and no matter how much she wanted to kiss him, none of the things that stood between them now were going to change.

She dropped her hand, and smiled through the wave of sadness that washed over her.

"Goodbye, Teagan," she murmured.

Then she turned, and led her band of companions across the bridge and away from Redcliffe, north toward Orzammar.

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to my beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Amanda Kitswell, Kevin and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, Irish_Changeling, Kenedii, Papercutpeterson, and Riptide.


	37. Aveline the Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions make their way toward Orzammar.

****_12 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
_ **_West of Lake Calenhad_ ** ****_  
_

‹›‹O›‹›

As they approached the turnoff to Sulcher's Pass, an icy wind blew down from the mountains, and the sky overhead threatened rain.

Rhianna stopped walking, and looked at the road that wound its way east up the mountains.

She was tempted to head up the pass and cross into Orlais. Assuming Loghain hadn't closed the border here as well, that is. There had been no word from Grey Wardens anywhere outside of Ferelden – no word that had reached Rhianna, at any rate. With each day that passed, she grew more desperate to be in contact with someone – anyone – who might be able to help the three of them stop the Blight. Well, the four of them, now that Jowan had been recruited. Not that she had any way of performing a Joining; Alistair had never been taught how to prepare the potion.

Yes, this journey to Orzammar was important, but almost certainly the help of additional Grey Wardens would prove more beneficial than assistance from the dwarves, in the short term anyway. That wasn't the real reason she wanted to travel to Orlais, though. More than anything, Rhianna hoped that once she'd made contact with the rest of the Wardens, the panic that had built up inside of her - a sharp dread that grew a bit stronger each day - would subside. A panic born of being one of only three actual Wardens in all of Ferelden, none of whom had much of an idea about how to stop this Blight.

But what was merely a light drizzle here near Lake Calenhad would turn into snow at higher elevations. She couldn't risk being caught in a blizzard and having all of them freeze to death in the pass.

So, she pulled her cloak close around her shoulders, and continued north on the Imperial Highway. The Grey Wardens would just have to wait. Or, rather, she would just have to wait for them, because surely Wardens were on their way already from somewhere other than Orlais. News of the Blight will have spread by now - to the Free Marches, and Antiva, and beyond. Hopefully to the First Warden in the Anderfels, who was bound to take immediate action against this threat. Perhaps Wardens had already arrived in Denerim, and word just hadn't reached Rhianna's ears yet.

That thought brought a smile to her face, as did the sight of Gwyn, playing in the air currents overhead as the hawk kept pace with the companions.

Thankfully, the past several days had been mostly uneventful, after the first awkward evening in camp with Jowan. That night, as soon as they'd made camp, Wynne strode across the clearing to where Rhianna was setting up her tent. The older woman wasted no time with pleasantries.

"You have no idea what a big mistake you've made."

Maker's balls. Was this about Jowan, again? Did this woman do anything but complain?

Rhianna glanced around the clearing. "What? You don't like the place I chose for us to camp? Next time say something before we've built the fire."

The mage's lips grew tight and thin. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"No?" Rhianna blinked with feigned innocence.

"That man is a danger to everyone and everything around him, and when he does something terrible, I am going to hold  _you_  personally responsible."

"Oh. You're talking about Jowan."

"Of course I'm talking about Jowan. He's a blood mage, and you had no business recruiting him into the Grey Wardens."

A spark of anger burst into life in Rhianna's chest. "The First Enchanter didn't seem bothered by the idea. And he knows what Jowan is capable of at least as well as you do, doesn't he?"

Wynne crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Irving is not infallible, and anyway that's not the point. The point is that you took it upon yourself to make a decision you should not have made. I want some assurance from you that you're going to do whatever is needed to keep that man in line."

The anger flared more brightly. "No."

Wynne blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said no." Rhianna lifted her chin. "Of course it's my intention to make sure Jowan does no harm. But I'm not going to make some promise because you don't like a decision I made. You're entitled to your opinion, and I'm willing to discuss those opinions within reason. But I'm tired of you thinking it's all right to make demands of me, or lecture at me when you don't agree with something I've done."

She arched a brow. "It's a poor leader who will not take guidance from those with more experience."

"And there is a difference between 'guidance' and harassing someone for making a decision you don't agree with. Earlier today, you expressed your opinion that recruiting Jowan was a bad idea. I did listen to what you had to say. I just happen to disagree, and since I'm the one everyone else chooses to follow - the one everyone else relies on to make decisions - I did what I thought was best. As far as I'm concerned, there is no need for further discussion."

"Young lady, you cannot just do whatever you like and expect there to be no consequences!"

"Consequences? I'm more than wiling to face the consequences of my actions. But you act as though I have some selfish motive for the things I've done. I assure you, I don't. All I want is to end the Blight, and I intend to do whatever needs to be done to accomplish this goal. Like I said, you're welcome to disagree with me, but I am not willing to defend myself to you time and time again. If you're not satisfied with my leadership, I won't try and stop you from leaving. We'll be traveling near the Circle in a very few days. I'll be happy to arrange for you to have an escort back there if you like."

"Is that what you want?" Wynne stood straighter. "For me to leave?"

Was it?

"No," she answered truthfully. "We still have a Blight to end, and I could use your help. But I've had enough of these lectures of yours after the fact." She paused. "Did you know Elspeth was made Tranquil?"

"Elspeth?" Wynne's eyes widened. "I . . . no. I was not aware. Although I suppose I'm not surprised. She could hardly have expected anything else after what she did."

"Whether she expected it or not, I saw her, and it was horrifying. To see her completely devoid of emotion, all the life stripped away from her. I was not willing to allow that to be done to Jowan, as well. That is why I chose to ignore your advice, and recruit him. I believe there is still good he can do in this world, and being made Tranquil wouldn't allow him to do it. So I hope I've made myself clear. I do not want to hear more about this in the future."

Wynne stared at Rhianna, lips pursed into a frown. "Very well." She turned on her heel and retreated to her tent.

Rhianna let out a breath. Hopefully, that would be the end of that, and Wynne would take Rhianna's words to heart. What she'd said about the Circle was no idle threat; especially now that Jowan was with them, they could manage without Wynne's healing magic, if needed.

Speaking of Jowan, Rhianna wanted to talk to him as well. In private. This proved easy to arrange. He had set his tent up on the far edge of camp, and none of the others had gone anywhere near him. It seemed that Wynne wasn't the only one who disapproved, but as long as they were quiet about it, Rhianna didn't really care what the others might think.

Jowan sat crosslegged on the dirt in front of his tent, and as Rhianna approached, he looked up at her, eyes narrowed.

"Could we talk for a few minutes?" she asked.

"Um . . . yeah. Sure. Of course." He gestured that she should sit, and Rhianna settled herself on the ground a few feet away from him. "What can I do for you?"

"For starters, I hope Wynne isn't being too awful to you?"

"Wynne?" He shrugged. "Nah, it's all right. She glares at me all the time, but . . . well, I do deserve it, after all."

"No, you don't deserve to be glared at or harassed. When I recruited you, you became one of us. You're a Grey Warden now, or will be once we can find someone to perform the ritual. As such, you deserve to be treated with respect. So if she keeps glaring at you, or says anything rude, I want you to let me know, all right?"

Jowan stared at her, blinking. "All right." He wrinkled his nose. "You know, back at the Circle, Wynne wasn't known for keeping her opinions to herself."

Rhianna had to stifle laughter. "Why am I not surprised to hear that?" She held Jowan's gaze. "But this is not the Circle, and I am not going let her bully you. Or anyone else. Understood?"

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Understood." He let out a breath. "Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Actually, no," Rhianna replied. "I also wanted to talk to you about what happened in Redcliffe."

His shoulders slumped. "You mean with Connor?"

"No. With Eamon. I want to know why you were in Redcliffe in the first place."

"Oh." He bit at his bottom lip. "There's not really anything else to tell. It's just like I said. I was hired by Loghain Mac Tir."

"Hired to poison Eamon, but not to kill him?"

"Yes!" Jowan leaned forward. "Exactly. I was never supposed to kill anyone. No one seems to believe me, but I swear I'm not a murderer."

"I believe you." She paused. "Are you sure it was Loghain Mac Tir who sent you? Absolutely sure?"

"Yes. He's the Hero of River Dane and Teyrn of Gwaren. I'd seen paintings of him and drawings in books and things. Besides, even if I hadn't known it was him, I listened to the templars grumbling about him, and it was Gwaren soldiers who escorted me to Redcliffe."

So, it really was Loghain. But why? Why would he want Eamon out of the way?

"What did he say when he hired you? What exactly did he tell you?"

"He said . . ." Jowan bit at his bottom lip, and looked up at the sky, then back at Rhianna. "He said that he needed me to go to Redcliffe and tutor the arl's son. Grammar and history and that sort of thing as far as everyone else was concerned, but Lady Isolde would know that I was also teaching the boy how to control his magic in secret. But just Lady Isolde. The arl wasn't supposed to know. Then, once I'd settled into the household, I was to poison the arl." Jowan leaned even closer. "The teyrn just wanted me to make the arl sick enough that he wouldn't be able to travel for a few weeks. And then I was to wait for a message when it was time to use the antidote to reverse the poison."

"But why? Did he say anything about why he wanted you to do this?"

Jowan shrugged. "No, and I didn't ask. I wasn't really in a position to ask questions. He just said that if I agreed, I wouldn't be taken to Denerim and executed. Well, he didn't say that part about not being executed, but we both knew that was what waited for me in the city. He said I'd be able to live comfortably in Redcliffe, and Lady Isolde would be grateful – for Connor's sake, I mean, not for the poisoning of her husband. She wasn't supposed to find out about that. No one was. Anyway, of course I agreed. The teyrn got me away from the templars, which is more than I ever hoped for." He gave a barking laugh. "I don't think they were happy about it, either."

"No, I don't expect they were." And yes, that sounded like something Loghain would do. Although how he knew Isolde was looking for someone to teach her son magic in private was still a mystery. One Jowan clearly could not answer.

"Why do you care so much?" Jowan's question surprised her.

"What?"

"I mean, you seem really interested in this. More so than anyone else. I think you asked more questions than Lady Isolde did, to be honest."

"Oh. I'm . . . I'm just trying to understand why Loghain might have done this. It must have something to do with getting Anora safely on the throne. That's the only thing that makes any sense." She paused. "Even so, it's out of character for him. Loghain is the sort of man to face things head on, not go around hiring people to do his dirty work for him. I suppose that's why I'm asking. It just seems . . . strange, that's all."

Jowan nodded. "You know him, don't you? And the arl, and Lady Isolde. You must know all of them. Your name is Cousland, isn't it? So, you knew them all . . . before?"

"Yes. I'm a Cousland, and I've known Loghain for years. Eamon, too, although I don't know him very well. I'd never met the arlessa, though, until recently."

"Hmnh." Jowan wrinkled his nose again. "You know . . ." He exhaled noisily. "Ah, nevermind."

"What?"

"Well, it's just . . ." He leaned close. "It's just that it wasn't all that difficult to poison the arl. I don't mean logistically, I mean that I don't really feel all that bad about it, to tell you the truth." He glanced around. "I probably shouldn't admit this, but, well . . . you said you knew him?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe you've noticed that he isn't a very . . . pleasant person to be around." Jowan shrugged. "At least that was my impression of him." He paused. "I hope you and he weren't . . . friends, or anything? I kind of figured you weren't though, or you'd have agreed to go searching for the ashes right away."

Oh. Had it been that obvious?

"Not that it was obvious," Jowan hurried to add, almost as though he'd read her mind. "But it just seemed to me as though . . . well, you and Bann Teagan seemed to know one another pretty well, and if you'd been friends with Eamon, too, well . . . " Again, he wrinkled his noise. "I hope I'm not way out of line by saying this?"

Rhianna gave a soft chuckle. "No, you're not out of line." She paused. "And you're right. I'm not fond of Eamon. He's . . . well, he's meddled in my life before in ways that I wish he hadn't." She held Jowan's gaze. "What did he do to you?"

"To me?" Jowan shook his head. "He didn't do anything to me. I'm not sure he ever said two words in a row to me. It's possible he didn't even know why I was there. To tutor Connor, I mean. I'm pretty sure he doesn't pay any attention to people he feels are beneath his notice, and I guess tutors fall in that category." Jowan leaned back, his face animated, as though he were allowing himself to relax. "No, it wasn't anything he said to me. It was the way he treated the arlessa. The way he spoke to her, like she was stupid and worthless. Sometimes he yelled, but honestly, it was worse when he didn't. He had this quiet voice that . . . well, he said a lot of cruel things to her, and all in the space of just a few days. I hadn't been there very long, after all. I mean, maybe I shouldn't care." He shrugged. "I know Lady Isolde hates me now, but when I first arrived she was really friendly and gracious, and never anything but kind to me. And to hear the arl speak to her the way he did . . . well, it was horrible."

"Was he that way to Connor, as well?"

"No. He was nice enough to Connor. When he bothered to pay the boy any attention at all." Jowan tilted his head to one side, and gave a little shrug. "Of course, I didn't really know any of them that well. I was only there a week before . . . well . . . you know."

Short time or not, he was observant enough to develop what seemed to be a reasonable opinion of Eamon.

"Yes." Rhianna let out a breath. "I do know."

Even if she didn't understand completely, Loghain must have had a good reason for doing what he did. And Jowan was right – Eamon was not a pleasant person. She almost felt guilty for not being upset by what had happened. If anything, she was more disturbed by Loghain's involvement than by the fact that Eamon had been poisoned. She wasn't sure what that said about her, but it probably wasn't anything good.

"Thanks," she said. "Thanks for talking to me about all this. And welcome. I'm glad to have you along."

‹›‹O›‹›

Since that night, things had been calm. They'd encountered a few bandits along the road, but fortunately, no darkspawn. Most of the time, Jowan stayed close beside Rhianna, and as far away from Wynne as possible. From time to time, he made tentative attempts at conversation, but mostly just walked silently at Rhianna's side. She didn't mind. It was a comfortable silence.

Recruiting Jowan had been the right thing to do.

Not long after passing the turn-off to Sulcher's Pass, they rounded a curve in the road to see a man standing in the shadow of a ruined Tevinter wall. Nearby was a small wagon, it's tongue lying flat on the ground, not hitched to any animal.

When the man noticed their approach, he put his hands up, as if to show he meant them no harm. Or perhaps it was a gesture of surrender, as surely he had more to fear from Rhianna and her friends than they had to fear from this lone man who appeared to be unarmed and without so much as a horse to pull his wagon.

"Good day," he greeted. He had greying hair and light blue eyes, and skin that looked weathered from spending a great deal of time outdoors. "Er . . . you'll have to forgive me if I seem a bit nervous. But I wonder if I could ask your help with something. Not many people traveling in this part of Ferelden at the moment." He scoffed. "Of course, that's part of my problem, isn't it? Mule got spooked by a wisp and ran off into the woods. Now what do I do?"

"Well," Daveth began, with a glance at Rhianna, "probably you should go after the mule."

"Oh, no, I've already sent my helper out after the beast. That's not the problem."

"Then what exactly is the problem?" Rhianna asked.

"Good of you to ask! First, allow me to introduce myself. Felix de Grosbois, merchant and entrepreneur, at your service." His name was Orlesian, although his accent wasn't. "I've been traveling through the Heartlands, and decided to come to Ferelden for the winter," he replied. "A decision I have come to regret." He glanced down the road almost wistfully. "I don't normally take this route, but they're not letting anyone come through Gherlen's Pass, what with the war and all. I was hoping for a bit of luck and good weather in the mountains through Sulcher's Pass. Sadly, so far I've had neither. This trip has been one miserable disaster after another. I don't suppose you'd . . . consider helping a fellow out?"

Rhianna arched a brow. "Just what sort of help do you need?"

"Of all the things that went wrong, the worst is this artifact I bought in Jader. It's a 'control rod,' I'm told. The dwarf I bought it from said it activates and controls a golem. So long as you have it in your hand, the golem does what you say. No point in me keeping it, as I'll never get to use it . . . but maybe you could? Might be useful, no? You look like the sort who could use a thing like that."

A rod that controlled a golem? It did sound useful, if it was legitimate. She'd never seen a golem - creatures made of living stone, much famed as nearly unstoppable warriors. A golem would be good for killing darkspawn, no doubt. Assuming they actually existed, and weren't merely something from children's stories. In all likelihood, this was some sort of scam. Either way it hardly mattered. He was certain to ask a great deal of money for this thing, authentic or not, and Rhianna didn't have coin to spare just now.

Even so, there was no harm in asking. "How much do you want for it?"

"How much?" His eyes grew wide. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

What? He was just giving it away?

"I paid too much to simply throw it away. The fellow I bought it from is a longstanding contact, one who didn't want to come to Ferelden right now with all our . . . troubles, and I bought it from him as a favor. You know, in the interest of maintaining a good business relationship. Now, I don't want to have to lug around something that might be taken for a gemstone by some bandit. But I can't really justify asking money for it. I don't even know if it'll be useful to you. "

What sort of merchant was he, giving away wares for free?

"What's the catch?" Daveth asked.

"The catch?" The man gave a sheepish smile. "Yes, I . . . suppose there is a catch, isn't there? Heh, well . . . the catch is that the golem didn't come with the rod. It's supposed to be in a village in the south, down near Redcliffe, waiting to be activated. I had intended to go down there and collect the thing, but I understand the place has been overrun by darkspawn. You and your friends loo well-armed, though. I don't imagine darkspawn are much of a problem for you, are they? The man I bought it from said he got it from the man who owned this golem, but to be honest, I have no idea if it will work. I can't take your money in good conscience, but I really would like to be rid of the thing. So how about it? What do you say?"

It wasn't every day someone offered a golem control rod.

"I suppose I could try and find the thing, next time I'm in the south," Rhianna replied. They'd be going back in that direction eventually to search for Fergus. If this was legitimate, it would be well worth the effort.

"Excellent!" He took out of his pack a long thin cylinder fashioned out of some sort of crystal. Runes - dwarven, maybe - shimmered softly along its shaft. He offered it to Rhianna, but she shook her head and turned to Morrigan.

"Will you take a look at it first? Make sure it's not . . . well, you know, cursed, or possessed by a demon?"

"Of course." Morrigan stepped forward and held out her hand, and de Grosbois seemed to have difficulty holding her gaze. As soon as he'd handed the rod to her, he took a nervous step backward.

She took the rod gently, rubbing its length with her palm, and then she held it loosely in her hands, her eyes narrow and unfocused.

"I can sense no foul magic about the thing." She offered it back to the merchant, but he waved her away, and gestured that it should be given directly to Rhianna.

It was cold to the touch, but quite pretty. Up close, the crystal glittered faintly with all the colors of the rainbow. If it actually awoke a golem, and this golem proved useful, this would have been a very good deal, indeed.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're more than welcome," he said. "As I mentioned before, you'll find the golem down south. In a town called Honnleath. Just hold up the rod and say 'dulef gar.' That will wake the golem up. Or so I'm told. I hope it works. And if it doesn't . . . well, maybe you could look up the fellow who owned the golem before? If he's still about, that is. Fellow by the name of Matthias."

"Matthias," Rhianna repeated. "I'll try and remember that. So," she continued, "how long were you in Orlais?" Perhaps this man had some news that would be of interest.

"Five months, this trip, in Val Royeaux and then Jader. Buying and selling, although business wasn't as brisk as usual, even in Orlais. And here in Ferelden, I suspect it's going to be even worse."

"You're probably right about that, although some things are in short supply, so perhaps business won't be as bad as you expect."

"I hope you're right. That would be nice."

"Is there any news from Orlais? Any interesting gossip?"

"Heh. There's always gossip. Whether or not it's interesting is for you to decide, I suppose." He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's see. They're talking about the darkspawn, of course. Apparently, the Grey Wardens were put out about not being allowed to cross the border, and now everyone out there is praying that the Frostbacks are more than the darkspawn are willing to face, and that if this truly is a Blight, only Ferelden gets the brunt of it."

Maker's breath. She supposed that was an unsurprising sentiment, but it stung to hear it spoken so plainly.

"There's also talk about the king's death," he continued. "People are saying that King Cailan was cheating on the queen. Maybe even planning to put her aside, and the queen found out about it. That's why Teyrn Loghain abandoned Cailan at Ostagar."

That was interesting. The first two parts were, of course, true. And if Loghain had found out . . .

Oh. That might explain why he had been so angry with Rhianna. If he'd thought she intended to replace his daughter as queen, he'd be furious.

But how in the world could he have found out about about any of that? It was one thing for people in Orlais to gossip about an unfaithful king, but how could Loghain have learned that Rhianna, specifically, had been considered as Anora's replacement? None of the people who knew - her family, Celene and Gauvain - would have said anything to Loghain. Except Cailan, of course. Perhaps that's how Loghain found out. It was easy enough to imagine. " _Oh, how funny that Rhianna Cousland is here. You know, for a while I considered marrying her. But now that she's a Grey Warden, that certainly isn't going to happen_." Cailan had been just stupid enough to let something like that slip.

Even so, it seemed far-fetched to think Loghain would have wanted Cailan dead because of it. Angry, yes? But not so angry that he would have left Cailan to die. And Loghain would never have abandoned the entire army. He had far too much respect for the soldiers in his command.

"Course, I don't know that you can take what the Orlesians say seriously," Felix mused. "They also say that King Cailan wasn't even really old King Maric's son. That Maric's real son is hidden in the bowels of Denerim's palace, and has been since he was born. Cailan's naught but a foundling they put on the throne, because Maric's real boy was a simpleton, or maybe a mage. I heard they feed him cakes all day long to keep him content. Maric's real son a mage. Can you imagine?"

Well, at least that was one rumor that could safely be ignored. There was no chance at all that Cailan hadn't been Maric's son. The two of them looked too much alike not to be related. She glanced at Alistair, but he was hunting through his pack a few feet away, and didn't appear to be paying any attention to the conversation. Had this rumor started because of him? Not that he was a simpleton, or locked away in Denerim Palace, but Maric  _had_  had another child. Someone must have known, other than Eamon.

The merchant shrugged. "Can't really think of much else. I spent most of my time in the countryside; not much news to be had from those folks." He let out a sigh. "I guess I'd better try and find that mule. And my helper. Considering neither of them have come back yet, and it's going to be dark soon. Best of luck to you, then. I hope you manage to find that golem."

‹›‹O›‹›

That evening, they camped off the road, in sight of Lake Calenhad. While the others set up camp, Rhianna and Dane went into the woods to hunt something for them to eat. Over the past few weeks, the companions had fallen into a pattern: Leliana, Daveth and Rhianna took turns hunting, while the others set up the rest of the camp. None of the others were good with a bow, and while Alistair and Sten were more than willing to hunt with their swords, they were limited to bringing down prey that would attack, rather than run away. Killing bears and wild boar, when they didn't have the means to use all the meat before it would rot, seemed a waste. So, every few days, Rhianna went out to hunt. She hated it; tears came to her eyes every time she took the life of some gentle creature, even though she knew that was stupid. She would have eaten it had someone else killed it, so what was the difference? Still, she hated it. Hated feeling the minds of the deer and rabbits and pheasants push at hers in a friendly way, knowing that she would take one of their lives.

She and the others needed to eat, though, so she did what needed to be done.

After they ate - a brace of rabbits that Morrigan had skinned and turned into a delicious stew - Rhianna left the others to sit on her bedroll and rummage around in her pack. She wanted a fresh shirt to wear to sleep; the one now wore smelled a bit rank.

Her hand brushed against something round and hard. Curious, she pulled it out. It was the amulet Isolde had given Rhianna right before she left Redcliffe. In the excitement of leaving the castle, Rhianna had forgotten all about it. She picked it up, and went to sit beside Alistair at the fireside.

"You've decided to join us after all?" The smile he gave her was warm and welcoming. "It's a bit too chilly this evening to stray too far from the fire, isn't it?"

"That it is." She tucked her legs underneath her, and Dane padded over and rested his head in her lap.

"At least it's not raining on us," Alistair mused. "All day long, I was sure it was going to start pouring down as soon as we made camp. I cannot say how happy I am to have been wrong about that." He tilted his head, and looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Why do I get the feeling you have something to tell me?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. You just look sort of . . . business-like, I suppose." He grinned. "Should I be worried?"

"No. Not worried," Rhianna chuckled. "I do have something to tell you. Or, rather, something to give you. Something I believe belongs to you?" She held out her hand, and showed him the amulet. "This is your mother's amulet, isn't it?"

The smile slipped from Alistair's face. He reached out, and gingerly picked up the round of porcelain, its surface scarred with cracks.

"Yes." He turned the piece over in his hand, and then held it closer to his face. "This is definitely my mother's amulet." He caught Rhianna's gaze. "But I don't understand. Where did you get it? Did you find it in the castle?"

"No, I didn't find it. Isolde gave it to me before we left. She asked me to give it to you."

"Lady Isolde?" His lip curled. "What was she doing with it?"

"When you were sent to the Chantry years ago, she found it shattered in Eamon's office. She repaired it, and held onto it all this time, hoping to return it to you someday."

"She . . . what? Lady Isolde repaired it?" He shook his head. "That can't be right. It must have been Arl Eamon."

"No, she was very clear on that." Probably best not to mention that Eamon had intended to have it thrown in the rubbish pile.

"But why? She hates me. Why would she do a thing like that?"

"Perhaps," Rhianna put a gentle hand on his arm, "she doesn't hate you. Perhaps she never did." Rhianna shrugged. "I don't know. All I do know is that she asked me to give this to you. She wanted you to have it."

"That's . . . Wow." He rubbed his thumb along its marred surface. The amulet had been shattered; it must have taken Isolde hours to piece it back together. "Thank you." He looked into Rhianna's face. "Thank you for returning it to me."

"I don't deserve any thanks; I was merely the messenger."

"Even so, thank you."

Alistair slipped the amulet into his pocket and fell silent. Before Rhianna could think of a new topic of conversation, Sten strode up and stood before Alistair, his hands folded across his chest.

"The Blight. How will you end it?"

"W-what?" Alistair stuttered. "Um. Well. We . . . well, we have to fight the archdemon."

"Is that all? It is surrounded by an ocean of darkspawn." Sten continued to stare at Alistair. "How will you reach it? If you reach it, how will you slay it?"

"Well . . ." Alistair's brow wrinkled. "I'm not exactly sure. Yet. We'll figure it out by the time we get there, though. I hope."

"Hmnh," Sten scoffed. "You say you are a Grey Warden. I have heard stories of this order. You are said to be great strategists and peerless warriors." He paused. "But from what I have seen of you so far, I am not impressed." In a swift movement that startled everyone around the fire, Sten pulled his greatsword out of its sheath. "Draw your sword," he demanded.

The crease in Alistair's forehead deepened. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Your weapon. Draw it," Sten repeated.

"Why? Are we under attack?"

"I want to see what you can do."

Alistair glanced at Rhianna, and then back at Sten. "You want to fight me? Just like that?"

"Yes." The Qunari's expression was calm, but his eyes were intent on Alistair's face. "How are you going to face an archdemon if you cannot face me?"

"It's a mystery, I'll admit. I told you I don't really know how to kill it. Anyhow, why aren't you pestering Rhianna? She's a Grey Warden, too, and she's the one in charge."

"She is a woman. So it follows that she cannot be a Grey Warden."

"What?" This time it was Rhianna whose voice lifted with disbelief. "Of course I'm a Grey Warden."

Sten turned his gaze on her. "Then you can't be a woman. Women are priests, artisans, shopkeepers, or farmers. None of them have any place in fighting. Or in wielding magic." He glanced at Morrigan, who sat across the clearing in front of her own tent, paying no attention to the discussion.

"What are you talking about, Sten?" Leliana asked. "Do you mean your people have no female mages or warriors?"

"Of course not. Why would our women wish to be men? That makes no sense. Do they also wish to live on one of the moons? That's as attainable."

"What you've said is not a universal truth," Rhianna said. "Some women fight, some women use magic. I am a woman, Sten. I assure you of that. And a Grey Warden. Besides, you know I'm a warrior. You've seen me fight."

"Have I?" He arched a brow. "I have seen you play with a sword. There is a difference."

Rhianna swallowed, left speechless by Sten's insult. No one had ever questioned her skills before, no one other than Loghain, and he only did that to encourage her to be better.

"Maybe things are different where you're from," Daveth began, "but it's not like that here in Ferelden. Here, women fight, and women use magic. And they can be damned good at it, too. Like Rhianna is. You must be blind if you think all she does is 'play' with a sword."

Sten gave a slight shrug. "It is not I who is blind. I merely speak the truth. A person is born: Qunari or human or elven or dwarf. He doesn't choose that. The size of his hands, whether he is clever or foolish, the land he comes from, the color of his hair: these are beyond his control. We do not choose. We simply are."

"Perhaps some things are predetermined." Rhianna tried, and failed, to keep the edge from her voice. "But not everything is. A person can choose what she wants to do. And I have always chosen to fight."

Sten stared at her through slightly narrowed eyes. "I am not convinced." Then he turned back to Alistair. "Stand up. And draw your sword."

Alistair shook his head. "No. I don't want to fight you."

"You don't  _want_  to fight? And I should let your weakness damn us all?" Sten took a single step closer. "Draw your sword," he repeated. "I'll try not to injure you permanently."

Before Rhianna could intervene, Alistair replied, "No. I don't have to prove anything to you." He shifted position, so his back was to Sten. "I don't want to fight you, and I'm not going to fight you."

Everyone watched to see how Sten would respond.

"So. You do have a spine." The Qunari almost sounded pleased. He glanced at Rhianna. "Pity you don't use it."

Maker's breath, but this man was insufferable. First all that business about cutting the tongues out of mages, and now this? Perhaps they should have left him in the cage.

"I have an idea," Leliana said with slightly forced cheer. "Perhaps I should sing a song?"

"Yes," Daveth said. "Please do."

"Ah yes," Sten said. "Singing. I'm sure that will be effective against the darkspawn." But he didn't leave the fireside. Instead, he settled himself on the ground and kept his gaze on Leliana.

"Very well." Leliana glanced at Rhianna, and winked. "I shall sing about one of my favorite people. Aveline, the knight of Orlais."

Aveline? Rhianna had not heard this song before.

Leliana took a sip of water, and cleared her throat. Then, she began to sing in a sweet, warm voice that echoed through the darkness.

_Aveline, Aveline, knight of Orlais_  
 _Worthiest soul on the field that day_  
No one could best her with bow or with blade  
Aveline, Aveline the brave  


_Long, long ago a daughter was born to a farmer who wanted a son_   
_He bid his wife abandon the girl in the woods on the far side of town_   
_The elves, they did find her, and they took her in, and raised her as one of their own_   
_They taught her to ride and they taught her to fight, until the day she was grown_

Where was this going? Rhianna guessed Leliana had chosen this song for a reason. A song about a woman warrior? Very appropriate, all things considered.

_Aveline, Aveline, knight of Orlais_   
_Andraste smiled upon her that day_   
_Dying alone would not be her fate  
Aveline, Aveline the brave_

_When she came of age, her skills they were praised by all of her family and clan_   
_There's no chevalier could best her, they said, anywhere in all of the land._   
_Armor they gave her, a horse and a blade, shining bright from her helm to her feet._   
_Go show the shemlen of what you are made, and in the Grand Tourney compete._

_Aveline, Aveline, knight of Orlais_   
_She left her home in the forest that day_   
_Off to the city, her fortune to make_   
_Aveline, Aveline the brave_

_Never before had she seen such a sight, as the field outside Montsimmard_   
_Banners did flutter, and horses did prance; the crown prince was there with his guard_   
_Since no woman by law could take up arms and fight, Aveline kept her helmet in place_   
_She won at the joust and the passage of arms, the crowd's favorite she soon became_

_Aveline, Aveline, knight of Orlais_   
_She snuck onto the field that day_   
_If she were caught, a high price she'd pay_   
_Aveline, Aveline the brave_

_As the sun began to sink in the west, it came time for the Grand Melee_   
_Knight on their horses, with maces and swords, all hoping to win the day._   
_The horn blew to signal the start of fight, and the chaos of steel and sweat_   
_But one by one, the combatants did fall, until only two were left._

_Aveline, Aveline, knight of Orlais_   
_One of the two left standing that day_   
_Would her skill be enough this last foe to slay_   
_Aveline, Aveline the brave_

_T'was a knight she had bested before in the joust, named Kaleva, and angry was he_   
_Determined that he'd not be beaten again, he charged at her desperately_   
_Kaleva, he grabbed her, threw her to the ground, and the helmet came loose from her head_   
_Shocked at the sight of her womanly face, "What sorcery is this?" he said_

_Aveline, Aveline, knight of Orlais_   
_She surprised all on the field that day_   
_But now Kaleva, he felt betrayed_   
_Aveline, Aveline the brave_

_Being beat by a woman, Kaleva felt shamed, and quickly exploded with rage_   
_He forced her to her knees and angrily cried, "Woman, you'd best know your place."_   
_The crowd started shouting for him to stand down, and for Aveline they all did cheer._   
_But Kaleva was angry, to angry to stop, and he slit her throat from ear to ear._

Maker's breath. If Leliana was trying to show that women should be warriors, was this really the best story for that?

_Aveline, Aveline, knight of Orlais_   
_Her blood was shed on the field that day_   
_But the king's son would still have his say_   
_Aveline, Aveline the brave_

_Prince Freyan had watched, and been shocked by the deed, for he had seen Aveline's worth_   
_He swore this injustice to women would stop, and that none should should be banned by their birth_   
_The laws were rewritten so women could fight, with our bows and our shields and our swords_   
_And through us dear Aveline's spirit lives on, and her bravery burns bright in our hearts._

_Aveline, Aveline, Knight of Orlais_   
_The worthiest soul on the field that day_   
_Though she was murdered, t'would not be in vain_   
_Aveline, Aveline the brave_

_Aveline, Aveline, knight of Orlais_   
_Worthiest soul on the field that day_   
_No one could best her with bow or with blade_   
_Aveline, Aveline the brave_

When the last notes of the song faded into silence, everyone remained still for nearly a minute.

"That's . . . that's terrible." Alistair frowned. "But at the same time, it's a really good story. I'd never heard of Aveline before."

"I think she is more well known in Orlais than here in Ferelden," Leliana replied. "And yes, it was terrible. But to this day, any woman who is knighted in Orlais reveres Aveline the Brave, for she is the patron of all women chevaliers."

"Than you for the song, Leliana," Rhianna said gratefully. "I'm glad to know about Aveline."

"You're more than welcome. And of course, Aveline isn't the only female warrior we sing songs about here in Thedas. Andraste herself was a great warrior. Do you know this story, Sten?" Leliana asked.

The huge man frowned. "I am aware of the fairytale your Chantry tells regarding a woman who may or may not have ever lived."

"Fairy tale?" Leliana arched a brow. "Andraste is no fairy tale. I assure you, she was a flesh and blood woman. She spent the early part of her life in Tevinter, as a slave, and after she escaped, she led an army against the Imperium. The Maker granted Her powers with which to smite Her enemies. She raised an army, and the elves who were also enslaved were inspired to join her, under the leadership of a man called Shartan. Andraste would have brought the Imperium to its knees had she not been betrayed by her husband."

"And then she was burned at the stake," Sten said. "If this 'maker' of yours is so powerful, why did he not save this woman's life?"

A soft, thoughtful frown came to Leliana's face. "That question has come to me many times, and I do not have an answer. Why did He withdraw from Her at that moment? Where were all the powers he bestowed upon Her? Perhaps there was no way for Andraste to return to the Maker but through Her death, and he was ready for her to be with him for the rest of eternity. Or perhaps her death was needed, so that people would remember all that she accomplished. It is not for us to understand the ways of the Maker."

"If he couldn't save even the life of she who was supposedly his most beloved, then what good is he?" Sten scoffed. "Gods are no more than fairy tales to placate small children and those with foolish, childish minds."

"Well, that's rude," Alistair said. "You know most everyone in Ferelden is Andrastian, right? I'm starting to get the feeling that you don't really like it here in Ferelden. If that's the case, you know, you could always go home again."

Sten turned toward Alistair. "I cannot return home, no matter how much I might wish to."

"Why not?"

Sten hesitated. "For reasons of duty. Something I don't expect you to understand."

While Alistair stared at Sten, eyes wide, Daveth said, "You know, Sten, in just a few short minutes, you've managed to insult just about everyone here, one way or another. How about giving it a rest?"

The Qunari turned his head slowly, and regarded Daveth through narrowed eyes. Then, he shrugged, and looked away.

"Anyway," Leliana said, "the point I was trying to make is that here in Thedas, woman have been warriors as long as anyone can remember."

"Queen Rowan fought during the Rebellion," Alistair said. "I've heard stories about her. They say she was better with her sword than King Maric was."

"My mother fought in the Rebellion as well," Rhianna said. Something ached inside of her at the memory of fighting side by side in Highever Castle, the first time Rhianna had ever seen her mother with a sword in her hand. Her mother's arm had been strong as they battled their way through the castle together, in spite of the number of years it had been since she'd properly trained.

Rhianna glanced at Sten, and found him staring back at her. There were countless women who had fought bravely throughout history. How is it possible that Sten believed women could not fight? Perhaps he'd call her out to draw her sword. If that happened, she wouldn't hesitate. In fact, the idea of making him eat his words at swordpoint was rather appealing. He was formidable, but she could take him down, if she was careful about it and didn't let him hit her first.

He didn't challenge her, though. He merely looked away, to stare into the fire.

Rhianna was taking first watch, and in the rather uncomfortable silence that lingered, the others all said their good nights and went to their bedrolls, except for Leliana.

"I hope you don't mind me singing that song," she said once they were alone. "I just thought that perhaps hearing a story from our culture would help Sten to understand better."

"Of course I don't mind," Rhianna replied. "I loved hearing about Aveline. Well, it's horrible what happened to her, but as a story it was quite interesting. It's just . . . strange, to think of a world where women can't fight. I've wanted to fight as long as I can remember, and I started training with a sword when I was eight years old."

"Well, that explains a few things. You are one of the most skilled fighters I have ever seen."

"Tell that to Sten," Rhianna said with a wry smile. "He seems unimpressed."

"Yes, well I do not know much about Qunari culture, but apparently it is different from ours in a wide variety of ways. I hope you're not taking what he said to heart?"

"No, I'm not taking it to heart. I know who I am, and the opinion of some man with ridiculous ideas isn't going to change that." Rhianna paused. "So what explains your skill? You're good with your weapons, as well. I . . . don't mean to pry, exactly, but I do wonder where a Chantry sister learned to fight like you do."

"I was not always a Chantry sister, you know." Leliana hesitated, and gazed into the fire. "But I don't blame you for your curiosity." She turned back to face Rhianna. "Years ago, I was a traveling minstrel in Orlais. I performed tales and songs, and was rewarded with coins. Of course, a woman traveling around the countryside must know how to defend herself, yes? So I picked up a variety of skills along the way."

"You were a minstrel? You know, I thought about doing that, for a while. Well, something similar anyway."

"You? A teyrn's daughter? You wanted to sing and dance for a living?"

"No . . . not that. What I intended to do was gather a collection of wild animals - large ones, as dangerous as possible - and travel around Thedas with them, performing at festivals and such."

Leliana laughed. "Dangerous wild animals? Did you have a plan for training them to be performers? Or were you just hoping you could convince them not to eat you?"

"Oh, that would have been the easy part." When Leliana raised her eyebrows, Rhianna added, "I'm a ranger a . . . how do you say it in Orlesian . . .  _une traqueur_. So training the animals would have been no problem, and they'd have kept me safe while we traveled around. Of course, it was never anything but a childish fancy. I knew I couldn't just walk away from my duties as a teyrn's daughter." Rhianna grinned, but the the smile slipped away to remember that she had managed to escape that particular set of duties after all.

Leliana nodded. "That explains why we haven't been troubled by wild animals. I have noticed that the wolves and bears seem to avoid us. Now I know why. Is there a reason you keep this a secret?"

"When I was young, I used to fear that it was some sort of magic, and I'd be carted off to the Circle if anyone found out. I didn't even tell my parents for years. But now? I suppose there's no real reason to be secretive about it. I'm just in the habit of not telling people." She paused. "So how did you become a minstrel?"

"I just fell into it quite naturally, to tell you the truth. My mother was from Denerim, and served an Orlesian noblewoman who lived here when Orlais still ruled, a lady named Cecilie. When Orlais was defeated and people began to resent the presence of any Orlesian, Cecilie returned to Orlais, taking my mother with her. I was born in Orlais, and did not set foot in Ferelden until much later. When my mother died, Lady Cecilie let me stay with her. I had no one else. She was quite old then, and she had me study music and dance to entertain her. So, when she died, and I needed to make my own way in the world, I used the skills I had learned living in her household."

"Why did you decide to come to Ferelden?"

"When I was small, Mother was always telling me stories of her homeland. I think she missed it. I don't have many memories of her - she died when I was very young - but I do remember that I loved her stories." Leliana's gaze softened, and she gave a quiet chuckle. "The other thing I remember was my mother's scent. She kept dried flowers in her closet, amongst her clothes. Small, white wildflowers with a red center and a sweet fragrance. They were very rare in Orlais."

"Do you mean Andraste's Grace?" Rhianna said. "I often saw them in the woods near Highever."

"Yes, that's it, indeed. Andraste's Grace. Of course, that doesn't answer your question, does it? I had always been interested in Ferelden, so when an opportunity to travel here appeared, I took it. Then, I . . . well, I didn't intend to stay here this long. But when I found myself in Lothering, I went to the Chantry to find shelter from bad weather. By the time the storm had passed, I just . . . did not want to leave. I like to say the Maker brought me here."

Somehow, it seemed this "storm" was metaphorical, rather than an actual rainstorm. Rhianna was reminded of her entire past year. Yes, she supposed that could be described as "bad weather." Except in Rhianna's case, the storm had not yet passed. If anything, she suspected that the deluge had yet to begin.

"Don't you miss it? Orlais, I mean? I know I would miss Ferelden terribly if I had to be away from it for so long."

"Oh yes! I especially miss Val Royeaux. Have you been there?"

"Yes. Last year, my father and brother and I, along with King Cailan, visited Val Royeaux."

"Well, then you will understand when I say that Val Royeaux is her own person - she has a character and a beauty unlike any other city in the world. What did you do when you were there?"

"We stayed in the palace, and were given tours all around the city. We saw the University, and the Chantry - I even climbed all the steps to see the view from the top. And I was able to see some of the countryside, as well."

"You stayed in the palace? As a guest of Empress Celene?"

"Yes."

Leliana arched a brow. "That is . . . very interesting. What did you think of her? If you don't mind my asking."

"Celene? She was charming. Warm and friendly, especially when we had the chance to speak with no one else around. But she had . . . plans that involved me. Something she wished to happen, and tried to make it happen. It didn't work out as she had hoped, though, so I wonder if now she might be a bit angry with me."

"Plans? What sort of plans?"

"There was an Orlesian nobleman, a cousin of hers, that she wanted me to marry." Gauvain's face flashed through her memory. She regretted more than ever leaving him, even though there was nothing else she could have done. But he had loved her, and she had loved him, and that much had been beautiful. Now, she could remember him fondly, without too much sorrow. The thought of him brought her just a little bit of peace. "To be honest, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed my time in Orlais. Not life at court. Their Grand Game is even worse than what goes on here in Denerim. But the countryside was beautiful, and . . . well, there were definitely things about Orlais I enjoyed."

"You know of the Grand Game?" Leliana laughed. "Then you really do understand. Yes, there are good things and bad things about Orlais, like anywhere else. Sometimes I miss it dearly, and sometimes I am glad I am rid of it. The Grand Game . . . that is one thing I do not miss. I suppose someday I would like to go back to Orlais," she continued. "You might laugh at this, but I miss some of the fine things I had in Orlais."

"Are you trying to say we lack finery in Ferelden?" Rhianna arched a brow in mock offense.

"Well, yes," Leliana laughed. "I suppose that is exactly what I'm saying. There are nice things in Ferelden, of course. But it's not the same. You've been there, so you know. Orlais is very fashionable. Almost ridiculously so. Dresses . . . fine dresses and furs. And shoes, of course. One can't mingle with nobility with bad shoes. You ought to know that. Ahhhh. The shoes made in Orlais were exquisite. Not at all like these clunky fur-lined leather boots you have here in Ferelden. Ugh . . . just look at them!" She stretched her legs out in front of her and pointed her toes as if to demonstrate. "I know they are more practical. More Fereldan. But sometimes, a girl just wants to have pretty feet. You know what I mean, don't you?"

"I suppose so."

"When I left Orlais," Leliana mused, "the fashion was shoes with delicate, tapered heels and embellishments in the front. A ribbon perhaps, or embroidery. in soft colors of course; it was spring. My shoemaker was working on a pair that were covered in pale blue silk, with amber beads on the toes. What I wouldn't give for a pair of shoes like that now."

Another memory, of the way she herself had looked in the mirror on the night of the Bal Masque. What she wouldn't give to go back in time to that night, to any of the nights that happened before Howe attacked Highever.

"Some of the clothes and shoes I wore in Orlais were gorgeous," Rhianna murmured. "And it is fun to dress up once in a while."

"To be honest, I'm a bit surprised that you aren't . . . well, more interested in such things. Fashion and shoes. Being a noblewoman, I mean."

"I didn't mind wearing pretty clothes when I was a girl, and sometimes my mother insisted, but I spent a great deal of time time out of doors, riding my horse or wandering through the woods or sailing. I've always felt more comfortable in trousers, to be honest. I suppose that's come in handy lately. It's hard to imagine when I'll next have the opportunity to wear a gown."

Again, she thought back to her time in Orlais, and the gorgeous clothes she had worn there. Gifts from the empress. Looking back, it seemed likely that all those clothes and shoes and hair combs were all "moves" in Celene's Grand Game. Trying to win Rhianna over.

The Grand Game. What was it Gauvain had told Rhianna? Something about minstrels in Orlais?

Now, come to find out that Leliana had been a minstrel . . .

"You know," Rhianna tried to keep her tone casual. "When I was in Orlais, I was told that sometimes minstrels aren't merely performers. That sometimes they're spies. Bards, I think they're called?"

"Is that so?" Leliana gave an amused smile. "Where did you hear this?"

"From a . . . friend. Someone I met when I was staying at the palace. He told me that nobles often hire minstrels - or, rather, bards - to help them play the Grand Game. Spying, sabotage. Even assassinations, sometimes."

Leliana studied Rhianna's face. "And you wonder if I am such a person? A spy?"

"Well . . . yes. I suppose I am wondering that."

She chuckled. "I assure you, I am no spy. I merely came to Ferelden on a whim, and ended up staying. There's nothing more to it than that." Leliana stretched her arms above her head, and arched her back. "And now, I should probably try and get some sleep. All this walking, day in and day out, gets tiring after a while."

After the two women said their goodnights, and Leliana retired to her tent, Rhianna settled herself as comfortably as possible for the rest of the night's watch. She couldn't, however, get her mind off of the conversation she'd just had with Leliana.

Leliana had been a minstrel. Gauvain had said that many traveling players in Orlais were also spies. Assassins, even. But that didn't mean Leliana had been such a person. She seemed so devout, and cheerful, and she'd denied being any sort of spy. Of course, that's exactly what she would say if she were a spy. And her fighting skills were quite well-developed for someone who had merely been a traveling player.

Had Leliana known who Rhianna was, back before Ostagar? When she'd approached Rhianna in the Lothering Chantry? It wasn't impossible to think Leliana might have been sent there by Empress Celene . . .

No. That was ridiculous. Leliana was a lay sister. It was her job to offer comfort to those who sought it from the Chantry, and it couldn't have been too difficult to tell that Rhianna was distressed. Besides, even if Leliana had been a spy - or still was - how could she have known Rhianna would be in Lothering? And what could she possibly want with Rhianna, now that she was a Grey Warden?

Dane huffed softly, and snuggled a bit more closely against Rhianna, a clear sign that he thought the idea quite absurd. He liked Leliana.

Of course, Dane also seemed to like Sten. Perhaps the hound wasn't as good a judge of character as Rhianna had always thought him to be.

Another huff from the hound, but this one sounded offended.

"Sorry, boy. But I do have to wonder about you sometimes."

Even so, she'd had enough of suspicious thoughts for one evening. So, she pushed them from her mind, and tried to relax and listen to the song of the crickets and frogs in the woods nearby.

‹›‹O›‹›

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta reader, Psyche Sinclair, and to all my wonderful reviewers: KatDancer, Yarnandtea, and Irish-Changeling.
> 
> I apologize for the delay in this chapter. Last month, I had a severe reaction to some prescription medications, and ended up in the hospital. I'm fine now, but it took me a while to get back on my feet, and writing was basically impossible for several weeks, because I lacked the ability to focus mentally on things while I was recovering. It's still a little bit difficult for me to focus for long periods of time, so editing is happening much more slowly than usual, but I am feeling almost back to my old self. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back to my usual posting schedule very soon, but in any case, there shouldn't be this long of a delay again. Thank you for your patience! :)
> 
> "Aveline the Brave" is a song I wrote last year. If you'd like to hear a recording of it, just go to the third chapter in my "Extras" work for a master list of songs. It is also available for download from my Dropbox (you'll also find that link on my master list of songs).


	38. Without reservation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions have an encounter on their way to Orzammar.

__**15 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Frostback Mountains** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna and her companions were well up into the Frostbacks now, traveling northwest on the road that would take them to Orzammar. To get here, they had to navigate a day's worth of the road to Gherlen's Pass, but fortunately had encountered none of Loghain's soldiers along the way. Yesterday, they had left that road, and were now headed directly to Orzammar, climbing steadily in elevation. With any luck, they would arrive well before nightfall.

Rhianna was torn about this visit to Orzammar. On the one hand, it was bound to be warmer there than it was here in the mountains, which had grown alarmingly cold as they went higher and higher. She wasn't looking forward to an underground city, though. Just how far underground was it? How was she going to deal with visiting a city beneath an unfathomable amount of rock?

Not just that, but dwarves were shorter than humans. What if the ceilings and tunnels were so low that Rhianna would have to stoop to get through? And what if everything was narrow and dark? Like the basement of that abandoned guard tower? Every time she thought about it, a cold trickle of dread crept just a bit higher up her spine.

It didn't help that Rhianna had far too much time to think about what lie ahead. Ever since that uncomfortable evening when Sten had challenged Alistair, the companions had been somewhat subdued. Daveth and Leliana chatted amiably, but other than that, conversations seemed forced, and most of the time, everyone kept to themselves. In a way, Rhianna didn't mind. The silence was far preferable to both Wynne's accusations and Sten's strange philosophies. Even so, it was difficult to pretend to be cheerful when she had so much time to ponder the thoughts that surged through her mind.

Loghain had wanted Eamon out of the way. Not dead, just absent from Denerim. Fair enough. Wynne and Alistair seemed to think this was proof that Loghain was power hungry and evil, but neither of them knew Loghain or Eamon the way Rhianna did. Eamon was manipulative, and most likely hated Anora, so it was understandable that Loghain might not want the man interfering before Anora had formally claimed the throne.

Even so, it still seemed somewhat strange- this hiring of an apostate to travel to Redcliffe - and Rhianna wanted very much to hear from his own lips the reasons Loghain had done the things he'd done. So, after Orzammar, she would journey to the capital. This confusion and distance and miscommunication had gone on long enough. It was time to speak to Loghain, face to face, and work through the misunderstandings that had grown up between them. Surely, that's all that would be required. One good conversation, and they could start working together against this Blight.

It wasn't just help with the Blight she wanted, though. When she was being honest with herself, she had to admit that she missed him. Even after all this time, and everything that had happened, she missed him. The thought of having Loghain at her side while she fought the darkspawn was more comforting than anything else she could think of. Even if there was never anything romantic between them again, just the sound of his voice, the strength of his presence, would have brought comfort in a way nothing else ever could.

And if there was even the slightest chance that she could be with him again  _that_  way . . .

It didn't do to dwell on those thoughts for too long, though. 

As the sun neared its zenith in the sky above and Rhianna was just about to suggest they stop for their mid-day meal, there was a commotion on the road ahead. It looked as though a wagon had overturned.

As they approached, a young woman ran toward them, her eyes wide.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" She was breathless and hoarse. "We need help. They attacked the wagon!"

"Someone attacked your wagon?" Alistair glanced at Rhianna, then back at the woman. "Was it darkspawn?"

Oh, Maker. Please not that. Darkspawn this far north, so soon? That would be bad. Very bad.

"I don't know!" The woman threw up her arms. "Just please . . . please help us!" She didn't wait for a response before she turned and ran back toward the overturned wagon.

She didn't know? Well, at least that meant it almost certainly wasn't darkspawn. There's no way the woman wouldn't have noticed being attacked by those horrible creatures. They were unlike anything else in this world.

With a glance at her companions, Rhianna drew her weapons and followed the woman.

As they approached the wagon, it was clear something had happened. Not only was the cart overturned, but a pair of oxen lie bloody on the ground. There was no sign of any attackers, though, darkspawn or human, and Rhianna sensed no wild animals nearby.

When the woman reached the wagon, she turned toward Rhianna and her companions. A slow, unpleasant smile crept across one side of her mouth as a man stepped from behind the wagon.

He wasn't a human man, but an elf, with blond hair and brown skin. He was slight of build - maybe only an inch or so taller than Rhianna herself - but the muscles in his bare arms were taut and well-toned. His hair brushed the tops of his shoulders, and a dark tattoo snaked down one side of his face.

"It's about time you showed up." With a predatory and somewhat cocky smile, he strode toward her and pulled a pair of daggers from their sheaths as movement erupted all around. Archers stepped into view on the ledges on either side of the road, and more bandits emerged from behind the wagon and the large boulders nearby.

An ambush.

Lovely.

Rhianna increased the grip on her weapons and tested their balance in her hands.

The elf glanced at her companions, and his gaze seemed to linger on Alistair and Daveth.

"The Grey Wardens die here!"

The men at his side charged, and the woman who had hailed them pulled a staff out of the wagon, and began to cast a spell.

As Rhianna prepared to defend herself, movement overhead caught her attention. She leapt out of the way just as a tree crashed down from above, apparently rigged to fall. Before she could catch her breath, the elf attacked.

He struck at her with one of his daggers, a move she easily parried. She began to circle, in an attempt to get behind him, but he was fast. Nearly as fast as she was. She darted in and knocked him back with a blow from her sword, but as she recovered from the attack, a burst of pain exploded across her shoulders and tingled down her spine: one of the mage's spells. Rhianna stumbled, and the elf took the opportunity to swipe at her again. This time, she was unable to parry the blow, but his attack didn't have much power behind it, and the dagger merely glanced off her armor.

Rhianna traded blows with the elf once again. He was good, but Rhianna was better, and her sword had a longer reach than his daggers. She knocked away another of his strikes, and before he could recover, she crouched low and swung her leg around to knock his feet out from under him.

He landed on his back, grunting as the wind was knocked out of him. Rhianna leapt on top of him, straddling his waist to pin him to the ground. With the pommel of her sword, she thumped the crown of his head, just hard enough to render him unconscious. She didn't want him dead just yet.

He'd said he was targeting Grey Wardens; Rhianna wanted to know why.

A glance around revealed that the fighting was almost over. One of the assassins – a woman with a two-handed sword – was still on her feet near the wagon, but she wouldn't last long against Sten. Alistair, Daveth and Leliana had run up a small path to the ledge on the right, and dealt with the archers up there, while Wynne, Jowan and Morrigan cast spells from the road. Before Rhianna could even pull out her bow to help, all of the attackers were dead or disabled.

With rope from her pack, Rhianna bound the feet and hands of the elven assassin, and then she called to Jowan.

"Would you please heal this fellow enough that I can talk to him?"

"Anything you say, Commander!" The mage sent a cloud of faintly blue healing magic at the fallen assassin.

The elf stirred and gave a soft groan as he came awake. He tried to push himself up, struggled briefly against the ropes binding his hands, and then twisted around to prop himself up on one elbow. He blinked up at Rhianna, his eyes squinting into the light.

"Mmm . . . what?" He squeezed his eyes closed, and opened them again. "I . . . oh. I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all." His voice was somewhat raspy, and his accent Antivan. "But I see you haven't killed me yet."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "That could be easily rectified."

"Heh. Of that I have no doubt. Your skills are impressive. However . . ." The hint of a smile came to his lips. "Since you haven't killed me, you must have kept me alive for some purpose. I will take that as a good sign."

"That's rather optimistic, don't you think? I don't take kindly to being ambushed when I'm traveling around minding my own business." She shifted her weight to the other leg. "Perhaps I just want to torture you before I kill you."

"Indeed." Amazingly, he chuckled. "So you kept me around to have a bit of fun, did you? I like the way you think. But . . ." He let the word hang in the air, his eyes intent on Rhianna's face. "The purpose behind torture is usually to interrogate, yes? In which case, despite the potential for your amusement, perhaps I'll save you a bit of time and get right to the point." He struggled to shift into a more upright position. "My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden. A task at which I have failed, sadly."

What? The man was a paid assassin?

Before Rhianna could respond, Alistair stepped closer "I don't find anything sad about it at all. All things considered, I'm rather happy you failed."

"So would I be, in your shoes," the elf replied with an awkward shrug. "For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it? Getting captured by a target is a tad detrimental to one's reputation as an assassin."

"You're awfully glib," Rhianna mused, "for someone who's tied up and laying in the dirt."

Another shrug. "It is my way, or so I am told. But I was answering your questions, wasn't I? Tell me: what is it that you want to know? Unless, of course, you would prefer to torture me for the fun of it. In which case, perhaps we could hurry up and get that over with now?" He narrowed his eyes at her as his mouth twisted into a seductive grin. Then, he winked at her.

Maker, this man was cheeky, bound up at her feet and still making jokes. Rhianna bit back a smile.

"You said something about crows," Alistair said. "Antivan crows? What's that supposed to mean?"

"The Antivan Crows are an order of assassins," Leliana offered. "They are very powerful, especially in Antiva where they control just about everything, including the government. They are renowned for always getting the job done, and being well-paid to do it. Someone went to great expense to hire this man."

"Quite right." Zevran sounded pleased with her summary. To Alistair, "I'm surprised you haven't heard much about the Crows here in Ferelden. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous, and I thought that was the case everywhere. But apparently not."

Of course, Rhianna had heard of the Crows, although she had no personal experience with them until now. She couldn't even remember hearing about a real incident involving them in Ferelden. Only that Vaughan had claimed it was Crows who tried to kill him on the night he attacked Rhianna.

Either way, she was well aware the Crows were assassins for hire. But who on earth would have sent them after Rhianna and her companions?

"Pity," Zevran continued. He certainly was talkative, wasn't he? "Usually, the very name is enough to instill terror in one's victims. None of you look even remotely terrified, though. Well, except for the dark haired fellow in robes." He nodded in Jowan's direction. "Although I get the feeling he usually looks that way." He laughed, and caught Rhianna's gaze. "Perhaps I should have said something about being a Crow somewhat earlier in our relationship."

"I don't think it would have made much difference," she replied. "Our 'relationship' seems destined to have been strained the minute you stepped out from behind that wagon and drew your daggers."

"Fair enough. Perhaps it is not too late to salvage something, even though we got off on the wrong foot. Have you more questions for me?"

"You can probably guess my next question," she said.

"Ah, yes. I suppose I can. You are curious to know just who it was that hired me."

"Precisely."

"And I am more than happy to answer. I hope you are taking note of how cooperative I have been." He arched a brow. "Perhaps this will sway you to be merciful, once you've finished painfully wringing information out of me?" Before she could respond, he continued, "I was hired by a rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that's it."

Rhianna drew in a breath as her vision clouded, and her legs threatened to give out beneath her.

Loghain?

"Th-that's not possible." She struggled to keep her voice calm. "You must have the name wrong. It couldn't have been Loghain."

"Of course it could," Alistair said. "He already tried to kill Arl Eamon. Why not us, too?"

No. Loghain could  _not_ have hired an assassin and sent him after her. He might have been angry with her, but he couldn't possibly want her dead.

"Are you certain?" She held the elf's gaze. "Absolutely certain? That it was Loghain Mac Tir, the teyrn of Gwaren, and not someone else?"

"Yes, I am fairly certain. We did not exchange names or pleasantries. Come to think of it, his hospitality was not all that impressive; I was not even offered a drink. But we met in the Gwaren estate in Denerim, and he certainly looked the part. A tall man, very imposing, with light blue eyes and dark hair, braided at the temples.

Maker.

It had been Loghain.

She tried to stop her body from trembling as something inside of her shattered. The man she loved, the man who had been her best friend for so many years - he wanted her dead? Enough to hire someone to hunt her down and attack her like a thief or a bandit. Like a common criminal, or a traitor.

How was this possible?

"Of course," the elf continued, "I was curious as to why you had come to his attention. I assume it was for the usual reason, no doubt: you threaten his power. It did not seem prudent, however, to ask questions. He was not in a very good mood on the day he and I spoke."

She forced words from her mouth. "How . . . how much were you paid?"

"I was not paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. I do not know the exact sum, but I assure you, my services do not come cheaply."

Loghain paid money to have Rhianna killed. A lot of money.

He wanted her dead. Enough that he hired an assassin.

To kill her.

"When were you to see . . . him next?" Rhianna couldn't even speak Loghain's name.

"I wasn't." The elf paused, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her face. "If I had succeeded, I would have returned to Antiva, and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results. If I had failed, I would be dead. No need to see Loghain then. At least that is the usual way these things work, as far as the Crows are concerned. "

" _If_  you had failed?" Alistair took a step forward.

Another half-smile sprang to the elf's lips. "What can I say? I am an eternal optimist. Although, the chances of me succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they? Ha ha." He started to laugh, and then his smile faded just a bit. "No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?"

"Not, really, no." Alistair took another step forward, then glanced at Rhianna. "I say we kill the assassin and be done with him. I can't imagine he knows anything else that could possibly be of interest."

"Now, now!" The elf sat up straighter. "Let's not make any hasty decisions. We haven't nearly exhausted the scope of this conversation. I'm sure I know a great many more things that would interest you."

"I doubt that," Alistair replied. "You're loyal to Loghain. That's pretty much all I needed to hear."

"Loyal to Loghain? What makes you think such a thing?" He paused. "Loyalty, after all, is an interesting concept. I was contracted to perform a service, and I am somewhat disappointed in having failed. Believe it or not, I do take pride in my work. Beyond that, however, I have no personal interest in the conflict between you and him, if that's what you mean."

Rhianna was desperate to ask the same questions she'd asked Jowan. What exactly had Loghain said? Perhaps there was some mistake, and he'd only been hired to bring them back to Denerim, like the soldier's they'd encountered in Lothering.

But she couldn't quite bring herself to ask, not in front of the others. Not in front of Alistair, whose expression looked almost triumphant.

Instead, she asked the next thing that popped into her head. "Why are you telling us all this?"

He turned back to Rhianna, and his features softened, just slightly. "Why not? I wasn't paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely. But there is little point in trying to dissemble now that I have been caught, and it is reasonable that you would be curious as to who sent me. Over the years, I have discovered that telling the truth is the best strategy in some situations." A smile twitched at one corner of his mouth. "I am hoping that this is one of those situations. It seems to me that being cooperative will set the stage for a more positive relationship between us in the future."

"In the future?" Rhianna scoffed. "You just tried to kill me. What makes you think you have a future?"

"Well, you are talking to me. And I am still alive. These both seem to be good signs. And, as I said, I am an optimist. As it so happens, I've a proposal for you, if you're of a mind to listen. Assuming you are finished with the interrogation, and have decided against any plans you may have had to torture me?"

A proposal? What sort of nonsense was this? She couldn't help but be curious, though, as to what he had to say.

"I'm listening."

He released a breath, as those pleased to have the opportunity to plead his case. "Well, here's the thing: I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works in Antiva. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Even if by some miracle I did manage to kill you now, they would probably kill me on principle for failing the first time." He shrugged. "The thing is . . . I like living. And you are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause. So, what I would like to suggest is that you allow me to serve you, instead."

"You . . . what?" Had she heard him correctly? "You want to work for me? Instead of the Antivan Crows? You realize I'm not in the business of sending assassins after people."

"Oh, I did not mean that sort of work. To be honest, I'll be happy to do whatever you require of me. Anything, really. I think you will find I am skilled at many things. From fighting, to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more . . . sophisticated, now that my attempts have failed. I know what to look for should they try and send someone else. Or," his grin returned, "I could stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors? I assume a beauty such as yourself has a great many unwanted suitors pestering you at all times."

She blinked. "You're offering to warm my bed?" Did this man really think there was some possibility she might . . . sleep with him?

An image of Loghain flashed in her mind: him, smiling down at her, in that room at the top of Fort Drakon. Again, she began to tremble at the enormity of what the elf had said.

Loghain had sent him. To kill her.

"Ahhh," the elf purred. "So that is the option that appeals to you? I will admit it was one of my favorites, as well. You see? I knew we would find a common interest. Or two. Or three. Really, I can go all night." He winked at her.

Maker's balls.

"Hmnh. Can you really?" She shifted her weight to the other leg, pushing thoughts of Loghain out of her mind. She couldn't afford to be distracted just now. "And what's to stop you from finishing the job later? You must think I'm royally stupid."

"Royally stupid? Oh no. I think you're royally tough to kill. And utterly gorgeous." Another seductive smile. "There are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess." He winked at her again. "Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery, of course. I have no intention of making another attempt. As I told you, even if I were to kill you now, the Crows would not welcome me back, so what would be the point? Besides, failing to kill you once was demoralizing enough. Were I to fail a second time, I'm not sure how I could live with myself. So, you are safe with me.

"It's not as though I would miss the Crows," he continued. "To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I was a bargain too, or so I'm led to believe, as I was somewhat scrawny and not an entirely promising specimen. I think I've paid my worth back to them many times over. So, I don't mind the idea of a change of career. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. I think perhaps that someone is you."

"You were forced to join the Crows?" She had a vision of a thin elven child with unkempt hair, his hands bound with rope as he shivered on an auction block.

"Yes," he said lightly, "but don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Up until they decide they no longer have use for you. Then, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you."

Was it the thought of him in the slave market? Assuming that was even true. Or just the fact that he was trying so amiably to talk her into sparing his life? Either way, she found herself tempted to say yes.

"If I were to allow you to come with us, what, exactly, would you want in return?"

"Wait, what?" Alistair's voice was strained. "You want to take the assassin with us now? The blood mage wasn't enough for you?"

Rhianna ignored his comment, and Zevran was quick to reply, "Well . . . let's see. Being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you. And somewhere down the line if you should decide that you no longer have need of me, then I go on my way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?"

He sounded sincere. Of course, a trained assassin would also be an extremely skilled liar. Even so, there was something that seemed strangely honest about him.

Honest? Oh, Maker. That sounded ridiculous, didn't it? Something honest, about the man Loghain had hired to assassinate her?

That was another consideration, though, wasn't it? She wanted to know exactly why Loghain had done it. If she killed the elf, any answers he might have would die along with him.

Perhaps that would be best, actually. It was bad enough that Loghain had hired someone to kill her. Did she really want to know all the details of what he had said?

Probably not. Even so, she couldn't quite let go of keeping the option available.

And if he was telling the truth, wouldn't that be a way to strike back at Loghain? He would be furious to discover that not only had his assassin failed to kill her, but that she'd charmed him into joining her cause.

"All right," she said. "I accept your offer. You may come with us. For now."

"Rhianna?" Alistair, again. "You're not serious are you? This seems like the worst idea yet."

"Have you forgotten that we still have a Blight to end? And just think how furious Loghain will be when he learns that his assassin works for us now." She shrugged. "But, if you want to kill him, go ahead."

"I . . . well, no." Alistair's shoulders sagged. "I suppose we could use whatever help we can get. Still, if there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello."

He was probably right. Then again, it was no secret that they  _were_  desperate.

Rhianna knelt down beside the elf - no, not 'the elf.' She knelt beside Zevran. If they were going to travel together, she couldn't keep thinking of him as 'the elf.' She pulled at the knots that bound his wrists together, and then at the ones around his ankles. When that was done, she stood, and offered him a hand up.

"Welcome aboard," she said.

"Thank you." He held her gaze. "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This, I swear." He thumped his fist against his chest in a solemn gesture.

Rhianna nodded her approval. It was done.

This was probably a mistake. Then again, what was the worst that could happen? That he had lied about his intentions of trying again, and he'd stab her to death in her sleep?

To be honest, that didn't sound so terrible. It would bring a quick end to her troubles. Worrying about the darkspawn. Grieving for her family.

And best of all, she wouldn't have to spend even one more minute wondering just how it had come to pass that the man she loved - the man she had spent most of her life wanting to marry - now wanted her dead.

A dagger across her throat while she slept seemed almost merciful.

"Let's get going," she said. "I'd like to make it to Orzammar before night falls."

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair, and also to my lovely reviewers, KatDancer, Vicky79, Irish_Changeling, Kenedii, and Yarnandtea.


	39. Worse than losing them to death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions arrive in the city of Orzammar.

_**15 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon** _   
_**Frostback Mountains** _

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna should have been impressed by the entryway to the city of Orzammar. It truly was magnificent. Built directly into the face of the mountain, it loomed above even the tallest of the evergreen trees nearby. The edifice featured a figure that looked like some sort of stylized dragon, carved from terracotta-colored stone. At the bottom, the doors themselves were made of burnished bronze panels that glowed with a soft warmth in the late afternoon sun.

But as they made their way through the little marketplace that sat in its shadow, she couldn't bring herself to feel any excitement or awe or appreciation. She was too distracted by the nausea that churned in her gut, at Zevran's revelation about Loghain only a few hours ago. Even though she had tried to think about other things - anything else - on this final leg of their journey to the dwarven city, she couldn't keep the thought out of her mind.

Loghain wanted her dead.

So she had forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. To just keep going. If she stopped, if she let herself feel all the things that were boiling up inside of her, she might start crying and never be able to stop.

As they approached the stairs that led up to the city gates, finally, her attention was drawn by something else: an argument on the landing in front of the wide double doors. There, a knot of people had formed, humans and dwarves, both.

A human in chain mail shouted angrily at a dwarven guard. "We have already waited more than seven days. You cannot continue to deny us entrance to the city!"

"Veata!" The dwarf held his hand up; a gesture that the man and his three companions should keep their distance. "As I have told you before, the Assembly has yet to choose a successor for Endrin Aeducan, who returned to the stone two months ago. And until our throne is settled, I cannot allow entry to the city."

So the rumor Rhianna had heard in Lothering was true. The dwarven king really was dead. But why the delay in choosing a successor? Didn't he have children? And were they really not allowing people to enter the city? That would be inconvenient, to say the least.

"This is unacceptable!" The Gwaren soldier slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. "King Loghain requires the allegiance of the deshyrs or lords or whatever you call them, and he will not suffer this delay! As his appointed messenger, I demand to be granted entrance."

'King' Loghain? What in the world?

"I don't care if you're the human king's wiper," the dwarf replied. "Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled." When he saw Rhianna approach, he frowned. "By the ancestors, not another one! I suppose you'll be demanding to be let in, as well? I'll tell you the same as I've told this fellow every day for the past week. The dwarven city is closed to visitors at this time."

"Yes, I heard." Rhianna's tone was meant to soothe rather than provoke. "There's some question about the succession? I thought Endrin Aeducan had three children. Why hasn't one of them taken the throne?"

The dwarf let out a breath, as though he'd answered this question far too many times. "He did have three children, although only one of them still lives. The others returned to the stone even before their father did. And the one that survives - Prince Bhelen - doesn't have the support he needs to take the throne. The Assembly has gone through two dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it is not settled soon, we risk a civil war, and we can't have outsiders running around the city just now."  
"Of course. That's perfectly reasonable." She paused. "But I hope you'll be willing to make an exception for us. My companions and I are here to ask the Assembly for their assistance. I'm a Grey Warden, and the Wardens need our dwarven allies now that a Blight has begun here on the surface. I have a treaty, signed many ages ago, which promises aid from the dwarves."

"The Grey Wardens?" The Gwaren soldier whirled around to face Rhianna. "The Wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden! They're the sworn enemies of King Loghain!"

"King Loghain?" Alistair stepped forward. "What are you on about? Loghain is not the King of Ferelden!"

"He will be, soon enough," the man retorted. "As soon as a Landsmeet is convened, we will finally have a ruler on the throne who knows how to defend this country from the darkspawn and any other foes!"

Alistair's cheeks turned pink. "Loghain Mac Tir-"

"Enough." Rhianna put up her hand, urging Alistair not to argue further. "We don't have time for this now."

Nor did she have the mental energy to think about Loghain in any context, and certainly not this one. Was it possible he was really trying to take the throne?

She pulled the treaty scroll from her pack, and showed it to the dwarven guard.

"Here, as I said, we have a treaty that entitles us to aid."

"That is the royal seal." The dwarf looked up at Rhianna, eyes narrowed, as he studied her face. "We have no king to hear you at present, but the Assembly should be authorized to address it. Grey Warden, you and your companions may pass. Though I don't know what help you will find. Not with Prince Behlen, and his opponent, Lord Harrowmont, at one another's throats."

"What?" The soldier from Gwaren took a step forward, his eyes wild. "You're letting in the traitors, while we are denied entrance?" He pointed a gauntleted finger at Rhianna as he continued to shout at the dwarven guard. "In the name of King Loghain, I demand that you execute this stain on the honor of Ferelden!"

The guard merely arched a brow at the man. In the interest of avoiding bloodshed, Rhianna turned to the soldier.

"I don't know where you got your information, but the Grey Wardens did not have anything to do with King Cailan's death. And . . . Loghain Mac Tir," - his name nearly stuck in her throat - "is not the king of Ferelden. Queen Anora will be confirmed when the Landsmeet is convened. You do the teyrn no service by misrepresenting yourself and him, and by causing trouble here at the entrance to the dwarven city."

"How dare you even speak to me, traitor?" The man reached for his sword.

The dwarven guard strode forward, and two other armored dwarves near the door stood at attention. "Kill each other as you will, but take your sodding fight off my doorstep!"

The last thing Rhianna wanted to do was to fight these men, who were probably just following orders.

"There will be no fight," she said calmly. "May we enter the city now?"

"As you wish," the dwarven guard said.

He nodded to the other guards, and they pushed open the bronze doors, revealing a wide tunnel.

"You dare walk away from me?" The guard had drawn his sword, but as Rhianna gestured that her companions should lead the way through the doors, the man did not make any move to attack. "You're a coward as well as a traitor!"

"I have no quarrel with you, and do not intend to fight," Rhianna replied. "You can tell Loghain from me that he's wrong about the Grey Wardens." Not that this would make any difference. She'd already sent that message once, and it had apparently done no good. Either way, there was little point in killing these misguided fools for their loyalty. A loyalty she had, until very recently, shared.

Rhianna turned and followed the others through the double doors.

She found herself in a tunnel even taller than it was wide, with a paved floor and carved columns on either side of the road. It was well lit by torches, and seemed to lead downward, although just how far down it would be to the actual city was impossible to tell, as the road rounded a curve several hundred feet ahead. Hopefully it wouldn't be too far down.

At least it wasn't cramped and dark.

"The thought of so much rock over one's head is . . . disquieting." Morrigan's words echoed Rhianna's own thoughts exactly.

"I am not concerned with the rock," Sten said. "I wonder what we are doing here at all. It is our duty to slay the darkspawn, is it not? It is said that all the darkspawn are fleeing the underground. So why are we going there?"

"We're not here to fight darkspawn," Rhianna explained. "We're here to enlist the help of the dwarves in fighting the darkspawn up on the surface. No one knows better than dwarves how best to slay the creatures." Except, perhaps, the Grey Wardens. Wardens with more than a single day of training, anyway.

"Hmnh," he said. "Is it too much to hope that we will find at least a few of the creatures while we are here? It will make this errand seem more productive."

"Well, I for one hope we don't see any," Alistair replied. "I'm pretty sure darkspawn running around the streets of Orzammar would be a very bad thing."

"Hmnh," was Sten's only response, but there was no denying that Alistair made a good point.

As they rounded the bend, the tunnel stretched out ahead of them, leading steadily down into the earth. There was no sign of a city.

With each step Rhianna took, the tunnel seemed a bit more narrow, the air just a bit more difficult to breathe. It was her imagination, of course. The tunnel wasn't getting smaller, and she was in no danger of suffocating. In truth, the air smelled surprisingly fresh, all things considered. Even so, dread tickled at the bottom of her spine, and she had to push it away time and time again as they descended deeper into the earth.

The others seemed in good spirits, though. Strangely enough, most of the companions had been silent about Rhianna's recruitment of the elven assassin. Leliana and Alistair kept their distance from him, and Sten seemed not to care one way or the other. Wynne had thrown a few meaningful glances in Rhianna's direction, making it clear she disapproved, but said nothing at all. Jowan and Daveth were both willing to chat with Zevran, and their cheerful conversation echoed brightly in the tunnel.

Thankfully, no one had brought up Loghain's name again. Hopefully, it would stay that way. Because she honestly had no idea how she would respond to this most recent revelation.

Loghain wanted her dead.

Again, her stomach ached with nausea, and something fluttered in her chest as though trying to burst free. She wanted to curl up in a ball and sob, but of course she couldn't possibly do that. Not here. Not until later, in private. Assuming there was any privacy to be had in this city built by the dwarves.

Loghain wanted her dead.

No. She wouldn't think about that right now. She couldn't think about that right now. Instead, she would focus on what Daveth and Zevran were saying – something about easy marks in the Denerim marketplace. And now Jowan commented that he'd never actually been to Denerim.

Maker. It was like the start of some horribly bad joke: an assassin, a thief, and a blood mage walk into a tavern . . .

Except the real 'joke' was what had become of Rhianna's life. She took a deep, slow breath, to keep herself from throwing up.

If things had gone as she'd once hoped, she would have been married to Loghain by now. At his side in Denerim, working together to end this Blight. Perhaps she would have been expecting their first child.

Instead, she was in a tunnel that led into the bowels of the earth, with a group of people who were little more than strangers, trying to fight an enemy she barely understood. And the man she had loved for half of her life wanted her dead.

A sob bubbled up into her throat, accompanied by the taste of bile, and she struggled to force it down again.

‹›‹O›‹›

After they followed the road steadily downward for nearly an hour - best not to think about just how far down they had come - they reached a second set of bronze doors. These stood wide open, and the companions passed through into a grand hallway. They were greeted by a wave of heat, the source of which was readily apparent: along the walls, streams of white-hot lava poured from openings near the ceiling, flowing like molasses into troughs down below.

In spite of the heat, it was difficult to feel claustrophobic in here. Both sides of the room were lined with ornate statues at least twice at tall as Sten, and the ceiling stretched so high above their heads that Rhianna could barely see it.

"I believe those figures are the Paragons, chiseled from marble to mirror life itself." Leliana's voice was hushed. "I have heard much of the wonders of the dwarven city, but I must admit I did not expect it to be so very marvelous. Do you think they sell miniatures of those in the city? I would love to have some on my mantle."

"Paragons?" Alistair asked. "Who are they?"

"The Paragons," she explained, "are dwarves who, through great feats of invention or bravery or skill, contributed something so important to dwarven culture that they are considered to be born blessed. They are venerated, raised almost to the level of gods, and worshipped for their deeds. Each Paragon founds a new noble house, forever bearing their name."

They passed through the hall to another set of stairs, and yet another pair of enormous bronze doors. This time, as they stepped through the doorway, Rhianna drew in a sharp breath.

They had entered a cavern so enormous it was difficult to believe they were underground.

The cavern appeared to be roughly circular, with steps leading down to both the right and the left onto streets lined with merchant stalls and shops. Ahead of them, a wide bridge spanned a lake of lava, and at its far end, an enormous building was constructed directly into a pillar of rock, with two towering dwarven figures carved into the stone as if they were holding the pillar on their backs. Torches lined the streets, but most of the illumination was provided by the lava in the lake. It cast an eerie but not unpleasant orange glow upon everything.

It was still uncomfortable to think about being so far under the ground, but at least she didn't have to worry about bumping her head on the ceiling.

As Rhianna glanced around, trying to decide where to go first, a commotion near the bridge caught her attention.

"It is the Assembly who makes a king, and a king who nominates his successor!" A man's voice rang out loudly from the round courtyard on this side of the bridge. "None of it is carried in the blood."

The man who had spoken was a dwarf with grey hair and beard, surrounded by several men and women. Some of them were armored, and others wore rich fabrics that probably marked them as members of the nobility. Judging by their body language, a rather heated argument was in progress.

"Or, as now, when someone tries to use the Assembly to pull a coup." This time, the man who spoke was much younger, with reddish blond hair. "Who's to say what my father said in his final hours, when this would-be usurper was the only one by his side?"

So this must be Prince Bhelen, the remaining son of Endrin Aeducan.

"I'll have you thrown in prison! Which is what I should have done after Trian's death. Sereda was innocent. But you already know that, don't you, Prince Bhelen?"

"And you've bitten off more than you can chew, Lord Harrowmont."

"Handlers!" A man stepped forward from behind Harrowmont, sword drawn. "Separate these deshyrs in the Diamond Quarter. I will not have Bhelen incite a riot!"

One of Bhelen's men drew his axe. "You will not speak that way about the man who should be king!"

A guard who had been standing nearby stepped between the two factions. "Stone-blind idiots! I won't have fighting in the Commons. Especially in front of outsiders." He gave a meaningful glance in the direction of Rhianna and her companions.

After the two contenders for the throne glared at one another for another few seconds, both groups began to disperse.

"Well, that was friendly," Alistair joked. "When the dwarf at the door outside said they were at one another's throats, I didn't think he meant it quite so literally."

Indeed.

They headed down the set of steps to the left of the bridge (already, Rhianna had lost track of which direction was north), and glanced at vendors' stalls along the way. There was clothing and jewelry, weapons and armor for sale, all beautifully crafted, but nothing on which Rhianna could justify spending any of her dwindling funds. At some point, she had things she intended to try and sell, but that could wait until they'd had a meal, at least.

About halfway down the row of buildings, a sign caught her eye. The wooden placard was painted with a very large mug, foaming at the top. This could be only one thing: the tavern.

Wynne spied it at the very same time. "Oh, wonderful! A dwarven tavern. Shall we see what they have to offer? I've always wanted to try some of their ale."

"I don't believe it is truly ale," Zevran grinned. "At least not like anything we would call ale on the surface. It's said to be black in color, with a scent like swamp water."

"I wouldn't recommend it." Alistair sounded less than enthusiastic. "I tried the stuff once, on a dare. To be honest, I'm still not sure it isn't something they trick people on the surface into drinking as a joke."

His glum tone brought a smile to Rhianna's lips, the first in what seemed like forever. "Well, I suppose anyone who is curious can try it for themselves? We might as well stop and see what news there is to be had, and inquire about lodgings for the duration of our stay in the city."

With any luck, they'd be finished here today, or tomorrow at the latest. They'd need to stay at least one night, though. Assuming there was some way to tell the difference between night and day down here.

Inside, the tavern was spacious and welcoming, and doing a bustling business. They sat at tables near the bar, and before they'd barely gotten off their feet, a red-haired barmaid walked over to greet them.

"Atrast vala, strangers. You must be the Grey Wardens we heard about. Welcome to Tapsters. I'm Corra, your hostess. How may I serve you?"

News of their arrival had already spread through the city? That was probably a good thing. If the Assembly knew they were coming, perhaps that would expedite matters.

"I think we'd all like something to drink - ale, perhaps - and a meal," Rhianna replied. "Also, rooms for the night, if you've any available?"

"Food and drink, we can provide. But you won't need to stay here. I mean, of course we have rooms if you'd prefer, but there are quarters reserved just for the use of the Grey Wardens here in Orzammar. A permanent compound. To be honest, you'd be better off waiting and having your meal there, as well. I've heard that Helga and her brother put together a very nice spread."

"A compound?" Rhianna blinked. "For the Wardens?"

"Yes! It's in the Diamond Quarter. The entrance to the quarter is on the other side of the Commons, and once you're inside, you'll find the Warden Compound at the very end of the road, right across from the Shaperate. You should be able to find it with no trouble. As I said, Helga and her brother live there year round, and they'll make sure you're taken care of."

"That sounds . . . wonderful." This was a lovely surprise. For the first time, the fact that they were Grey Wardens wasn't met with suspicion or accusations. And there were lodgings? Perhaps even lodgings for which they wouldn't have to pay? "We'll just have drinks, then. And perhaps you could tell us where to find the Assembly?"

"The Assembly?" She arched a brow. "They're easy enough to find, also in the Diamond Quarter, just up the way from the Warden Compound. But I'm not sure you'll have much luck trying to talk with any of the deshyrs right now."

"Deshyrs?" Alistair leaned forward. "Who are they?"

"They're the members of the Assembly. I suppose the term is equivalent to what you call 'lords' up on the surface."

"Yes," Rhianna said. "We've heard there's some disagreement over the succession?"

"Disagreement? Hah!" This from a male dwarf sitting nearby. He banged his tankard on the bar, and stood. "That's an understatement. What it is, is a bunch of deshyr lords bickering over sand. Bhelen, Harrowmont . . . is one so different? There are no Paragons here, that much is clear. Although Lord Harrowmont's a fair man, at least. Whenever my father did business with him, he always paid on time."

"Lord Harrowmont is too mired in tradition," said a woman at the bar. "All he cares about is keeping things the way they've been for centuries, even if that means denying the rights of those on the surface."

"Kendra," the man said, "just because you have a cousin who decided he didn't like living topside and wants to return to Orzammar, doesn't mean the rest of us should have to suffer under Bhelen."

"Suffer? And how would you suffer, Rognan? You're a smith. Bhelen promises to improve trade relations with the surface. That can be nothing but good for your business."

Rognan grunted noncommitally.

"What I don't understand," Rhianna began, "is why there's a dispute. Isn't Prince Bhelen the son of your recently deceased king? I would have thought he'd have the stronger claim to the throne."

"That doesn't matter," Kendra replied. "The succession isn't carried in the blood, although the word of the old king is usually considered when it comes time for the deshyrs to vote. But in this case, the only person there to hear King Endrin name an heir on his deathbed was Lord Harrowmont. And since he claims that it was his name the king spoke before he died . . . well, you can see why some of us are skeptical."

"I met him once," another man said, from where he sat at the bar. "Prince Bhelen, I mean. Didn't even mind talking with one of the merchant-caste, and I appreciated that. But when they were leaving, I saw him slap around his second. He's the kind of man I wouldn't want my daughter marrying, if you know what I mean. And of course, they say he murdered his brother, and framed his sister for the crime."

This caught Rhianna's attention. "Really?"

"Eh, it's probably true." Kendra shrugged her shoulders. "But that's business as usual around here. I've no doubt all three of them were plotting against one another, and Bhelen was just the one who got lucky and found the opportunity to strike first. Prince Trian was certainly no jewel. To be honest, I'm glad we won't be stuck with him as our king. And Sereda . . . she would have been all right, I suppose. She was a fine warrior, although she never seemed to make much of an attempt to get to know anyone outside the Diamond Quarter. In any case, I don't really care what sort of person Bhelen is, so long as he gives us the rights we deserve, and the ability to make a proper living. The more cracks in the old way, the better."

"It's all well and good for us to debate these things endlessly, but none of us will get a say in what happens. Here's someone, however, who will." Rognan nodded at the approach of a dwarven man - the first Rhianna had seen with no beard. He had a warm smile on his face.

"I heard some chatter about Grey Wardens being in town. I see the rumors were true." The man bowed to Rhianna. "Lord Denek Helmi, honored deshyr of the Orzammar Assembly and terrible disappointment to my esteemed mother, who wishes I wouldn't spend time in taverns in the Commons."

"Rhianna Cousland. Pleased to meet you."

"Cousland? If I'm not mistaken, yours is the family that rules in Highever, up on surface, yes?"

He'd said 'rules,' in the present tense. Perhaps news of the massacre hadn't yet reached Orzammar. Well, she wasn't in the mood to explain all that now, and if her family name encouraged the Assembly to take her seriously, that could only be a good thing.

"Yes, that's right." She paused. "And you're a deshyr? It so happens I need to speak with the Assembly. What do you suggest is the best way to do this?"

He laughed. "Well, I hate to be bearer of bad news, but I'm not sure you'll get any satisfaction from the Assembly at the moment. Not that there's much satisfaction to be had from them, even at the best of times. But, as you've heard, we're in an uproar about the succession, and I'm not sure they'll be willing to interrupt their bickering long enough to talk about surfacer problems."

"But we're trying to end a Blight, and we need help from the dwarves to do it," Alistair said. "Surely, that's not just a surfacer problem. The Blight affects . . . well . . . everything."

"Ah, well, we tend not to see it that way. To be honest, things are calmer down here than they've been in ages. In terms of the darkspawn, I mean. When the creatures surge up to the surface during a Blight, it means fewer of them for us to fight down here. Fewer darkspawn means fewer dead warriors. Not to mention that weapons and armor sales on the surface increase. So, for us, the Blight is something of a win/win situation."

"But . . ." Alistair still seemed unsatisfied. "Are the darkspawn really that much of a problem down here? The rest of the time, I mean."

Lord Helmi arched a brow. "Orzammar is the only dwarven city still in existence. Well, except for Kal Hirol, but we try not to think about them. All the other cities and thaigs were destroyed by the darkspawn, and we can't travel the Deep Roads for fear of being murdered or worse. Darkspawn have nearly annihilated dwarven civilization. So yes, the darkspawn are a problem."

"And," Rognan added, "we've had little enough help from those of you up on the surface over the years. Seems you only care about the darkspawn when it's your towns being destroyed. Thaig after thaig fell to the creatures, and help from the surface never came."

"But surely the Grey Wardens have helped?" Alistair sounded less sure of himself now. "I mean, that's what we do. Fight darkspawn."

"Aye," Helmi admitted. "The Wardens have been here all along. And I expect that you'll be able to convince the king to send aid, for their sake. Once we have a king, that is."

"When do you expect that to be resolved?" Rhianna asked Lord Helmi. "You will be among those voting on the new king, yes?"

"That's right. Me and seventy-nine other fine, upstanding examples of how someone who's born into every privilege inevitably wants more. As for when it will be resolved, I don't know what to tell you. We've been unable to come to anything resembling a consensus."

"So, which one of them will be getting your vote," Zevran asked. "If it's not too bold of me to ask."

Helmi sighed. "I doubt either candidate has been outside the Diamond Quarter in his life. And until recently, I'd considered Lord Harrowmont a bit more . . . forgiving. Prince Bhelen's brilliant, I'll give him that, and subtle as sin, and somewhat more flexible when it comes to offering rights to those in the lower castes. But I don't think anything in Orzammar matters more to him than winning.

"In the end, though, it doesn't matter which man I might 'like' better. I learned of something yesterday that will force my hand. Harrowmont promised the same parcel of land to both my house, and the Dace family. Not that I blame the man for making promises that might buy him votes, but cheating like this in order to do it? Even if I like the man better, I couldn't possibly vote for him. The rest of my house would run me up to the surface and bolt the doors behind me. So, it'll be Bhelen who receives my vote."

‹›‹O›‹›

When they'd finished their ale and gone back out into the city, the Grey Warden compound was easy to find. It was right where Corra had told them it would be, and when Rhianna knocked on the door, they were greeted by a dwarven woman with a broad smile.

"Hello, and welcome!" The woman stepped back, and waved them inside with a sweep of her arm. "My name is Helga. My brother, Helmut and I, have been expecting you. Please, come in and make yourselves at home."

Once everyone was inside, Helga continued, "We are always so happy when Grey Wardens come to take advantage of our hospitality. Even though they usually arrive under less than happy circumstances."

"What do you mean?" Daveth asked.

"Usually, we only see those of your order here when one of them is ready to go on his Calling. We always throw a proper feast the night before. Try and give him a good send-off. But you and your fellow Wardens are hardly old enough for that. Do you mind if ask what brings you to Orzammar?"

"We're here to ask the Assembly to honor the treaty they have with the Grey Wardens," Alistair answered. "They're obligated to help us during a blight."

"Ah, of course." A dwarven man with the same dark blonde hair and amber eyes as Helga stepped forward. "We've heard talk about that, and the patrols have reported that the Deep Roads are easier to travel of late." He paused. "It's a bit late in the day to speak with the Assembly just now, though. Instead, I suggest you make yourselves at home. I trust you'll be spending the night? And are you hungry?"

Rhianna gave a warm smile. "I . . . yes, we'll be staying the night. And we stopped at the tavern - Tapsters, I think it's called - but just had a round of ale while we asked for directions. A proper meal would be most welcome, if it's not too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all! That's why my sister and I are here. " He glanced around at her companions. "There are more than enough private rooms to accommodate everyone, although you're also welcome to stay in the dormitory, if you prefer. As I said, please just make yourselves at home, and don't hesitate to ask if there is anything either of us can help you with."

Feeling a bit overwhelmed by their generosity, Rhianna took the opportunity to explore the compound. It was much larger than she would have expected, four floors in all, with common areas, and a huge dormitory, and yes, several private rooms, each with its own bathtub.

Oh. A bath would be wonderful, although she hesitated to ask Helga or Helmut for hot water so soon after having arrived. Perhaps later.

Instead, after choosing a room for herself, she decided to change clothes and put her things away in the wardrobe.

There weren't many clothes to be put away. Just a few shirts and pairs of trousers, most of which were in desperate need of washing. And the nightgown she'd bought for herself in Oswin, a garment she hadn't even worn yet.

She shook it out and held it up in front of her. It was pretty: soft white linen, with a gathered neckline and ruffles at the wrists. It was very like one she'd had back in Highever. The one she'd been wearing the night she went to Loghain's room . . .

Oh.

Loghain.

Her legs felt weak, and she stumbled back onto the bed, as the reality of what she'd learned that day rushed back, leaving her nauseous and trembling and vaguely terrified.

Loghain wanted her dead.

This single thought surged through her mind again and again, like some terrible mantra.

It just didn't seem possible. Even if Loghain no longer wanted to marry her – or perhaps had never truly wanted to marry her to begin with – how could he want her dead? What could she have possibly done to make him turn on her like this, so quickly and thoroughly?

A knock on the door interrupted these morbid thoughts.

It was Daveth. "Our hostess asked me to tell everyone that food is ready to be served."

Gratefully, she followed Daveth down to the dining room. There, an abundant spread of food was laid out, all of which smelled delicious. Even so, Rhianna took only tiny amounts, as her stomach was tied into so many knots she feared she wouldn't be able to eat much of anything despite the Grey Warden appetite that gnawed constantly at her gut.

After everyone had served themselves, Alistair cleared his throat.

"So," he began, in a voice clearly meant to get everyone's attention. "When are we going to talk about the fact that Loghain hired an assassin to kill us?"

As everyone around the table fell silent, Rhianna glanced over to find him staring at her. His eyes burned with . . . not glee, perhaps, but something not far from it.

Of course, he would feel vindicated, wouldn't he? She'd insisted that Loghain had to be working for the good of Ferelden, that there was just some misunderstanding. That Loghain wasn't the enemy. Apparently she'd been wrong.

Loghain had sent an assassin. There really wasn't any way to argue against that. Not that she had the energy to argue much of anything at the moment.

"What is there to talk about?" Leliana's voice cut through the awkward silence. "He did it, and we stopped it from happening. It seems the discussion can end there."

"Oh, I think it's definitely worth a discussion," Alistair insisted. "Don't you agree, Rhianna?"

This was the last thing she wanted or needed right now, but it was clear Alistair had no intention of letting it drop.

"Just what is it that you'd like to discuss?" she murmured.

"Oh, maybe the fact that I was right about Loghain all along. That he murdered the king. What other reason would he have for wanting us dead, except to cover up what he did at Ostagar, and blame us for King Cailan's death? I must say, it feels awfully good to be right."

Maker's balls. Alistair was going to gloat?

Before she could respond, he continued, "We could also talk about how he's declared himself king now, according to those soldiers we met at the gates. Even though you swore that was the last thing he would ever want to do." One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. "But to be honest, what I'd most like to discuss is what we're going to do next. Can you finally agree that when we go to Denerim, we're going to find Loghain and kill him? Bring him to justice for what he did to Duncan. And to Cailan, of course."

"Are you sure justice is what you seek?" Morrigan asked. "It sounds more like vengeance, to me."

"As long as Loghain dies," Alistair replied, "I don't care what you call it." Again, he turned to Rhianna. "So. What do you have to say about all this? You know, finding out that he hired someone to kill us. I'm all ears. Or maybe you think there's still some other explanation. Blood magic, maybe?"

As if it wasn't bad enough to know that Loghain wanted her dead, now she had to listen to this? No, Alistair didn't know the true depth of the relationship she'd had with Loghain, so he had no idea just how much this hurt. None of them did, and she certainly wasn't going to tell anyone about it now. Not like this. But that hardly made things any easier for her.

"Alistair," Leliana soothed. "I'm sure the significance of what Zevran told us today was not lost on Rhianna."

"Yes, well maybe I'd just like to hear her say it. Just once. To hear her admit that she was wrong."

"Alistair, that's enough." Daveth's tone was sharp. "Just drop it."

"Drop it?" Alistair's voice was higher pitched than before. "Drop it? Why should I drop it? Was she ever willing to 'drop it?' About how well she knew Loghain, and how certain she was he couldn't possibly have betrayed anyone? How impossible it was that he could have murdered King Cailan and Duncan? Maybe I would like to hear someone say they were wrong, just this one time."

Rhianna turned to face him. "Fair enough. Loghain is . . . the enemy. You were right, and I was wrong. Are you happy now?" She couldn't quite keep the bite out of those final words, and her eyes burned with tears that she was absolutely not going to shed in front of Alistair.

He frowned. "Well, you don't have to be such a bad sport about it."

"No, of course not." Rhianna set down her fork, and pushed her chair back from the table. "You're right about that, too." She stood, and forced herself to walk, rather than run, toward the door of the dining room.

"Hey," Alistair called after her. "Where are you going?"

Rhianna didn't respond. As she left the room, she heard Leliana's voice. "Leave her alone, Alistair."

"I just wanted to talk about it. You know, about being right about something, for once."

"There are times when it is better to be silent than to be right," she replied. "This was one of those times."

When Rhianna stepped out of the dining room, she intended to turn right, and go back to the room she'd claimed as her own. Instead, her feet took her to the left, and out the front door of the compound, onto the main thoroughfare of the Diamond Quarter.

She trembled with the effort of holding back tears, and her stomach churned, even though she'd eaten almost nothing. Thankfully, hardly anyone was on the street. It must be late - maybe close to midnight - but how was one supposed to tell without the sunlight or the moon up above?

She crossed to the railing, and looked down on the lower levels of the city, and the lava pools below.

Loghain wanted her dead.

Images flashed through her mind, one after the other, relentlessly.

Riding with Loghain in the countryside near Denerim.

Sparring at Highever.

Having a picnic at the beach, and the way he smiled when she sang songs for him.

Tea parties in the palace.

The feel of the parchment in her hands as she read and re-read every letter he'd sent her while searching for Maric.

The way his lips felt against hers that first time at Dragon's Peak.

Holding him close the night he'd told her about how his mother died.

A sob shuddered in her chest.

These memories had meant everything to her. Everything. Outside of her family, no one had ever meant as much to her as Loghain had. And she'd believed he felt the same about her. He'd told her she was important to him. But in the end, it didn't matter. Every single hope and dream she'd ever had for a life with him was shattered.

He wanted her dead.

A tear slipped from her eye, and she wiped it away.

This hurt more than anything had ever hurt. More, even, than the deaths of her parents. That grief was covered with a fresh coat of anger, and she knew they had loved her, and their deaths weren't her fault.

But this . . . this? She didn't understand it at all, couldn't understand what she had done to drive him away. She was worthless. That was the only explanation. Unlovable in some profound way. It had been stupid for her to ever think otherwise. All her life she'd known that people were only nice to her because she was the daughter of a teyrn. It was just like Habren had said:

You will never really know how any man feels about you . . . lots of men will ask you to dance, but ask yourself this: does he really like you, or is he just pretending so he can have a dance with the daughter of a teyrn?

She'd thought it was different with Loghain. He'd said it was different. But it wasn't. He'd given up on her, turned his back and walked away.

She leaned a bit farther out over the railing.

How long would it take to die if she were to fall into a pool of lava? Not long. And no doubt it would be painful, but only for a brief moment . . .

Another tear, and a sob escaped her throat.

"Rhianna?"

She gasped and whirled around at Leliana's voice.

"I'm sorry." Leliana put a comforting hand on Rhianna's shoulder. "I didn't mean to startle you. But Alistair behaved badly back there, and I just wanted to make sure you're . . . all right. I will leave you alone if that is what you want, but if you would like to talk, I am here to listen."

Leliana held Rhianna's gaze. It was clear the woman was sincere. But why? They hardly knew one another. It wasn't as though they were friends. Rhianna didn't have any friends. Once upon a time, there had been Loghain, but now . . .

"I . . . I'm all right," she managed. "I just . . . Alistair does have a point. I defended Loghain when he didn't deserve it."

"Alistair is being an ass." Leliana's voice was surprisingly harsh. "His mind is like that of a child, and he thinks only of himself most of the time, not about how his words and actions affect others. Don't pay attention to anything he says."

"Whether or not that's true, to be honest, that's not why I'm upset. This really isn't about Alistair at all." Rhianna looked out at the lava below. "This . . . well . . . this particular bit of information was . . . difficult for me to hear."

"Because you and Loghain were lovers?"

Rhianna turned back to Leliana. "How did you know that?"

The hint of a smile crept across Leliana's face. "I didn't know for certain, until now. But I had guessed. From the way you speak of him. The tone of your voice. The look in your eyes." She paused. "I know how this feels, Rhianna. To be betrayed by someone you love. To discover that this person does not care about you the way you thought they did. A wise woman once said to me, 'It is worse than losing them to death, when the one you love is untrue.'"

"Yes," Rhianna murmured. "Perhaps it is, at that." She paused. "Someone betrayed you?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

A slight frown marred Leliana's face. "Someone I thought I could trust. Someone . . ." She glanced away and looked out over the lava. "It is a difficult story to tell."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I'm sure it must be a painful memory."

"No. That's not what I mean." She turned back to Rhianna. "That's not why it is difficult to talk about. It is easy enough to explain what happened. I was framed for a crime I did not commit. Betrayed by someone I thought I knew and could trust. Not unlike what seems to be happening with you and Loghain. What makes it difficult . . . " She let out a sigh. "There is something I need to tell you. Something about myself. Something I didn't want to tell you before, because I was afraid it would change the way you think of me. Perhaps even enough that you will ask me to leave. But even if it does, I can see now that you deserve to know."

"What are you talking about?" A furrow formed across Rhianna's brow. "Something I should know? What is it?"

"The real reason I left Orlais. When we spoke a few days ago, I . . . well, I neglected to tell you the whole truth."

"What do you mean?"

"I . . ." She took a deep breath, and let it out again. "I lied to you when I said I was merely a traveling performer. The truth is that I was a bard, and I did not come to Ferelden on a whim. I came with my mentor, a woman named Marjolaine, and we were here for a very specific purpose."

"You . . . you are a bard? A spy?"

And not just a spy, but an Orlesian one at that.

Maker. Leliana had approached Rhianna in the Chantry, back before Ostagar. Had she known Rhianna's identity even then? Was that why she'd insisted on joining the party later? Was she here to spy on Rhianna herself?

"Who do you work for?" Rhianna asked. "Empress Celene?"

"Not the empress, no. I've never even met her, face to face. All the work I did was directly for Marjolaine. She was hired by a number of people, but I didn't always know their identities. And, before you ask, no. I did not come here to spy on you, although I wouldn't blame you for wondering now that you know the truth."

"What did you come here to do?"

"We came to Ferelden to ruin the reputation of a nobleman in the capital. Or at least that was what I believed our purpose to be. I was sent into the estate of the Arl of Denerim at a time when he was away from the city."

"The Arl of Denerim? When was this?"

"About four years ago."

"Why would you have gone after the Arl of Denerim? Urien Kendells was the arl at that time, and he never struck me as the sort to be worth that sort of trouble."

"I did not know why he was the target. We set up a few other people in the city, as well. A guard captain, and one of the banns."

"Wait, I think I remember that. Was the bann named Perrin?"

"Yes, that was him."

Bann Perrin, who'd been found passed out in the streets, wearing someone else's lacy underthings, if Rhianna's memory served. His reputation had never fully recovered.

"Maker, that was you? But what did you do to Arl Urien? I never heard any scandal about him."

"That's because there was no scandal, as you'll soon understand. The plan was for me to plant documents in his estate. Documents I had been told were love letters . . . something that would indicate he had a mistress. I thought it was nothing out of the ordinary. The sort of simple espionage that seemed harmless, and yet could ruin a person's life if it became public knowledge."

"A mistress? But Arl Urien wasn't even married then. His wife died when their son was small. Why would anyone care if he had a mistress?"

"Well, that's just the thing. I had been lied to about the purpose of our mission. When I went to plant the documents, I noticed that they were sealed. With the seal of Orlais." She paused. "I was supposed to leave them exactly as they were, but my curiosity got the better of me. Something told me that I needed to know what was in those letters, so I read them."

"And they weren't really love letters?"

"No. They were not. They contained military secrets. Marjolaine had been selling information about Orlais to other countries. Nevarra and Antiva, in addition to Ferelden. It was treason."

"Urien Kendells was buying Orlesian intelligence?"

"Yes."

That was a surprise. He'd always seemed so . . . ineffectual. He certainly never kept his son under control.

Of course, it was likely that there was a whole world of espionage in Denerim that Rhianna never knew about. Why would she have known? Neither her parents nor Loghain would have been likely to discuss that sort of thing with a child.

Her stomach churned at the thought of Loghain, and she forced herself to concentrate on what Leliana had told her.

"I don't understand. It sounds as though this came as a surprise to you. But isn't that what bards do? Spying and selling secrets?"

"Yes, of course. Some bards, anyway. But Marjolaine had only operated within Orlais in the past - at least that is what she told me. She led me to believe this trip to Ferelden was merely a lark. A chance to play a few pranks on some of the nobles here. When I discovered the truth, I was terrified. Not, as you might think, because I cared about the secrets themselves, or that Marjolaine was a traitor. Orlais, Nevarra, Ferelden? My life as a bard had taught me that my loyalties should be kept fluid. No, I was terrified that her life would be in danger if she were caught. Orlais has been at war with so many countries over the ages, and the empress takes a harsh view of such treason. Ferelden, too, is still very . . . touchy with regards to her western neighbor.

"As it turned out, I should have left well enough alone. But I didn't. I told Marjolaine what I had done. What I had seen, and that I feared for her life. She admitted her guilt, but said it was in the past. Said that she needed to destroy the documents, and then this would all be behind her. She promised she was in no danger, as long as I did all she asked of me. And I would have agreed to do anything to save her.

"Together we snuck back into the estate, so I could retrieve the documents I had planted. I thought this would fix everything. I believed it up until the moment I was captured by a Ferelden commander, a man named Harwen Raleigh, while Marjolaine stood at his side and looked on."

"Marjolaine . . . betrayed you?"

"Yes. She had . . . planned this whole thing all along. She altered the documents to make me look the traitor, and she told Raleigh where to find me." Leliana's voice caught on the words.

Rhianna studied Leliana's face, the fine lines that had formed around her eyes. "Marjolaine was more to you than just your bard-master, wasn't she?"

"Yes." Leliana paused. "She was my lover as well. I thought I knew her, I thought she loved me as I loved her. But my devotion blinded me to the truth. Really, I have no one to blame but myself. I was stupid, and naïve, and gave my trust where it was not deserved."

That sounded achingly familiar.

"Did you ever speak with Marjolaine again?"

"I did. I went after her to retrieve the documents. They contained names that would have put a great many people at risk. It was easy enough to catch up with her, and I intended to kill her for what she had done. But when the time came, I couldn't do it."

"Because you loved her? Or, had loved her once?"

Leliana studied Rhianna's face. "That is part of the reason, perhaps. But there was more to it than that." She ran a hand through her hair. "When I confronted Marjolaine, she said she had betrayed me because she believed it was what I planned to do to her. She was merely striking first. I tried to tell her that I did love her, and would never have betrayed her, but she refused to believe. She said I was just like her, only out for myself, and unable to care about other people.

"But she was wrong." Leliana's eyes flashed. "I am nothing like her. I am not incapable of love, or unworthy of trust. So, when the time came, I let her go. I could not kill her. It would have proved to her that she was right about me all along, and I don't think I could have lived with myself afterward."

Leliana leaned against the railing, and stared at the view below. "After I let her go, I needed to put that life behind me. Needed to be done with spying and subterfuge and lies forever. So, I went to the Chantry in Lothering; the Chantry protected my person, and the Maker saved my soul. And there I stayed, until I decided to leave Lothering with you."

"So you really put an end to it? To your old life?"

"Yes. I am done with all that, forever. All I want is to help you stop this Blight."

Perhaps Leliana was lying, but Rhianna didn't care. She was raw inside from what she'd learned about Loghain, and didn't have the energy to worry about Leliana's loyalty. And right now, seeing the pain in the other woman's eyes, and how closely it echoed her own, Rhianna felt nothing but empathy and sorrow.

"Thank you for sharing all this with me. I appreciate knowing the truth, and knowing that I'm not . . . the first person to have been betrayed by someone she loved."

"No," Leliana said. "Thank you for listening and for understanding. It feels good to have it off my chest." She paused. "If you want to talk about what happened with Loghain, as I said, I am more than happy to listen."

"I don't think I want to talk about it. Not yet, anyway. The short version is that he and I were friends for years, and then, for just a few weeks, we were . . . more than friends. We were even betrothed for a very short time, but my father wouldn't agree to the marriage, and everything . . . just fell apart. I still don't understand how or why it fell apart quite so thoroughly, but . . . well, obviously it did."

Her eyes burned, so she closed them, and took in a deep, slow breath.

Leliana reached over and took one of Rhianna's hands. With a gentle squeeze, she said, "It won't always hurt this much, I promise. You just need to give yourself some time."

Rhianna didn't know what to say, so she said nothing at all.

"Rhianna, look at me." Leliana let go of Rhianna's hand, and her tone was brighter, more cheerful.

Rhianna opened her eyes, and turned to face the other woman.

"I think we should go back inside." Leliana took a strand of Rhianna's hair between her fingers. "This heat is not doing anything at all good for your hair, and if you are not careful it will dry out horribly. I have an idea. Why don't I wash your hair for you with a tonic made of vetch? It will make you hair very soft and shiny. Then I will comb it through with rose water, and put in a few braids. How does this sound?"

"It sounds . . . wonderful."

It truly did. She'd always loved the way it felt when Oriana had braided her hair, years ago.

Probably, Rhianna should be angry with Leliana for not having told the truth from the start, but right now she just didn't have the energy. So, she would accept Leliana's offer of friendship, and hope that it was genuine. Perhaps just spending time with another person, doing every day sorts of things, would help fend off the desperate loneliness that had burrowed its way deep into Rhianna's heart.

"Excellent." A warm smile erupted across Leliana's face. "Then let us go back. We can hide away in the room I chose for myself, and we'll just ignore everything Alistair - or anyone else - has to say."

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair, and also to all my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, Papercutpeterson, Yarnandtea, Irish_Changeling, and LadyDarksbane.


	40. Subtle as sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions visit the Assembly, in search of assistance from the dwarves.

__**19 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Orzammar** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Breakfast was a somewhat awkward meal with only sparse conversation; tensions were still high after the revelation of the previous day. For her part, Rhianna was happy not to discuss it with anyone, so she kept to herself while they ate the generous feast their dwarven hosts had provided.

Once the meal had ended, Rhianna announced her plans for the day.

"I'm going to attempt to speak with the Assembly this morning. See if I can get them to agree to send help to the surface." She paused. "I don't think there's any need for all of you to join me, so I'll ask just a few of you to come with me, and everyone else will be free to explore the city, or do whatever you'd like to do for the next few hours." She glanced around the table. "Daveth and Leliana, I'd like you to come along, if you don't mind." They were both charismatic, and likely to make a good impression.

They both nodded their assent.

Not knowing how the dwarves would react towards magic, Rhianna decided to leave the three mages behind. Sten wore an impressive scowl that didn't seem likely to win him any friends, so he'd be left behind as well.

Her gazed landed on Alistair. The last thing she wanted just now was to spend any time in his company, but he was a Grey Warden, and the most experienced one at that.

"And I'd like you to come, Alistair. Please."

His eyes widened slightly. "Of course."

That left Zevran. It might not be bad to give the impression she had support from the elves. No one need know he was an assassin, rather than an elven ambassador. Besides, it would probably be a good idea to keep an eye on him. "And you, Zevran, if you don't mind."

"As you wish," he said with a nod.

The five of them ventured out into the Diamond Quarter. Even now, the street was relatively quiet. A few dwarves stood together in a knot, deep in conversation, and a town crier called out news from time to time. To be honest, she would have expected more activity. This was the largest dwarven city in the world, and it seemed half-empty.

As they climbed the steps to the Assembly hall, a dwarf with greying hair and an elaborately braided beard approached. Dark smudges ringed his eyes, as though he hadn't slept well in a great many days. As he came toward them he muttered something that sounded like, "Stone-forsaken fools and dusters."

"Excuse me?" Rhianna asked. So far, this didn't appear promising.

"Good morning." There was nothing welcoming in the tone of his voice. "I'm sorry. This is the Assembly of the Clans. Only deshyrs and occasional guests of state are allowed in." Behind him, the double doors that led into the Assembly chamber were closed, but raised voices could be heard from beyond.

"I believe we fall in that second category," Rhianna replied. "I'm a Grey Warden, here to speak with the Assembly about honoring ancient treaties."

"Oh. Forgive me." His expression softened. "I'm so exhausted, I completely forgot about the message from the gate guard, informing me of your arrival. Welcome to Orzammar. I am Bandelor, steward of the Dwarven Assembly. I hope you can forgive our unrest. The loss of our king has hit us hard."

"Yes, we are experiencing a similar situation in Ferelden. Our own king was killed not long ago." She paused. "I do hope to speak with the Assembly, though, as soon as possible. I'm in possession of a treaty, signed by the dwarves several ages ago, which promises aid to the Grey Wardens in the event of a Blight. Who would have the authority to help me with this?"

"I'm sorry, but there really isn't anyone with that authority at the moment. Respect for the Grey Wardens is great, but only the king could deal with such a matter. I'm afraid you won't receive a proper hearing until we have a king on the throne."

What? How was that possible? "Do you have no government in the interim? There must be someone who has the authority. A seneschal, perhaps, or yourself, as steward?"

"I'm sorry, but no. There's no one but the Assembly, and they won't agree to even discuss anything new until our own pressing business has been resolved."

Alistair broke in, his voice somewhat high-pitched and strained. "But there's a Blight going on up on the surface! The Grey Wardens need help."

Bandelor's eyes narrowed. "News of a blight is troubling, but it seems distant to us compared to the empty throne. The Assembly is blind to all else." He let out a sigh. "The only thing I can suggest is that you speak with either Lord Harrowmont, or Prince Bhelen. They are the two contenders for the throne, and perhaps one of them will have something useful to tell you."

This was disappointing, but it was clear from Bandelor's expression that there really was nothing more he could do.

"All right," she sighed. "Thank you, anyway, for your time."

As they descended the steps, Zevran said, "That hardly seems an efficient way to run a country."

"Indeed," Leliana agreed. "How do they manage to get anything done?"

"I wonder where we can find either of those men the steward mentioned," Alistair said. "I hope it won't be as difficult as getting into the Assembly."

Before Rhianna could reply, a dwarven man strode toward them. He was well armored, with short, dark hair, and a closely trimmed beard.

He stopped in front of Rhianna, and gave a quick bow of his head. "Welcome to Orzammar, Wardens. It is always a blessing for the dwarven city to host your order. I am Vartag Gavorn, top advisor to our good Prince Bhelen. I understand that you seek the aid of Orzammar's finest?"

Ah. Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult, after all.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Rhianna Cousland, and I am, indeed, seeking assistance from the dwarves. However, we've just been turned away at the doors of the Assembly. I am optimistic that Prince Bhelen, being the son of your former king, has the authority to grant the aid we are requesting."

"Ah," the man sighed. "Would that this were true. Bhelen certainly should have that authority, but I fear even the prince's hands are tied, so long as Harrowmont continues his campaign to steal the throne from the rightful king."

"I see," Rhianna said. "Even so, would it be possible for us to speak to Prince Bhelen? I'm interested to hear his perspective on the situation."

"That's the reason I sought you out. The prince would like very much to meet with you," Vartag replied. "Later today, perhaps? If you are available?"

"We can make ourselves available to meet with the prince at any time."

"Excellent. Then I shall send a messenger to you when I have made the arrangements."

"All right. We're staying in the Warden Compound here in the Diamond Quarter, but we'll probably be out exploring the city this morning. I hope that won't be a problem?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Vartag chuckled. "My messenger will have no trouble finding you. No offense, but you and your friends don't exactly . . . blend in here. If you know what I mean. Expect to hear from me again soon."

When Gavorn was gone, Rhianna looked at her companions. "Well, that was easy enough. With any luck Bhelen will have something helpful to say."

"Perhaps we should take this opportunity," Zevran suggested, "to speak with his opponent. This Harrowmont fellow. See what promises he will be willing to make, so we know which of the two should receive our support, should it come to that."

A reasonable suggestion.

The Harrowmont estate was only a short distance from the Assembly Hall. They were admitted by what appeared to be a servant, and asked to wait near the front entrance of the estate.

It was not long before a dwarf with a red beard approached. " _Atrast vala_ , Grey Wardens. Dulin Forender is the name."

It seemed the arrival of Grey Wardens had quickly spread to just about everyone, except the Assembly itself.

"Well met," Rhianna replied. "I'm Rhianna Cousland, and yes, I'm a Grey Warden. Me and my companions are here in Orzammar seeking aid against the Blight on the surface."

"We've had word of that down here, although this is the first confirmation I've heard that it's genuinely a blight. I assume you are here to make an appeal to Harrowmont for his assistance?"

"Yes, that is why we've come."

He let out a sigh. "It is shameful we are not in a better position to help. I know Harrowmont wishes he could offer you his wholehearted support. But I'm afraid that, even if it means the rest of the world would end tomorrow, Lord Harrowmont cannot ignore Bhelen today. Until the matter of the crown is settled, the the men who could be fighting darkspawn on the surface are brawling in the streets of Orzammar."

"I understand things are tense here, at present," Rhianna replied, "but would it be possible to speak with Lord Harrowmont. I would like to tell him my concerns, and see what suggestions he has for resolving this crisis."

"You want to speak with Lord Harrowmont?" Forender's brow creased, and he gave a slow shake of his head, as though he regretted what he was about to say. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. Under ordinary circumstances, Harrowmont would be honored to meet a Grey Warden. Unfortunately, we've already caught more than one of Bhelen's spies attempt to approach Harrowmont under a pretense of friendship. He simply cannot afford to trust anyone of unproven loyalties for the time being."

"Unproven loyalties?" Rhianna fought back laughter. "I don't have  _any_  loyalties here in Orzammar. My companions and I arrived less than a day ago. I haven't even spoken with Prince Bhelen yet." She paused, but Forender continued to frown up at her, seemingly unconvinced.

"You can't genuinely suspect me and my companions of trying to spy on Lord Harrowmont," she finished.

"I'm sorry," the dwarf shrugged, "but Lord Harrowmont will insist that if you want his time now, you'll have to prove you have no intention of turning against him later."

Harrowmont sounded like an arse.

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?"

The dwarf's brow smoothed, and a smile crossed his face. "Easy enough. All you need do is agree to perform a service for him."

Rhianna glanced at her companions. "What sort of 'service?'"

"Just a trifling thing, really. You see, Bhelen has blackmailed or threatened several of Lord Harrowmont's allies into withdrawing their support. Including the men who were slated to fight in Harrowmont's honor at tomorrow's Proving. If you were take their places - fight in Lord Harrowmont's name - that would send a strong message to all of Orzammar that you believe Harrowmont to be the best choice for king."

"The Proving?" Alistair asked the question that was on Rhianna's lips. "What's that?"

Forender's eyes narrowed, as though he didn't believe the question was sincere. "Surely, you know about the Proving? It is a series of duels held in the arena in the Commons. The outcomes of these battles are decided by the Ancestors themselves. So, if a Grey Warden were to fight in a Proving and win, this would show not only your loyalty to Harrowmont, but it would show all of Orzammar that Harrowmont was favored by the Ancestors themselves."

This man wanted her to fight in the arena? Like some sort of . . . gladiator? This was ridiculous.

Apparently, Zevran agreed. "This is to be your king? A man who hides away in his estate and asks a visitor to fight his battles for him? Why should we ally ourselves with someone who will not even grant us an audience?" He laughed. "Were I you, I would seek a stronger king than this Harrowmont. Prince Bhelen, perhaps."

"With all due respect," Forender said, "you are wrong. Harrowmont is the better man, and will make the better king."

"Be that as it may," Rhianna said, "I can't very well endorse a man who won't take the time to speak with me, and I have no intention in fighting in this Proving of yours."

"You're making a mistake. Even if Bhelen promises to provide the aid you seek, he can't be trusted. Harrowmont is a man of his word, and as soon as you've shown to him that  _you_  can be trusted, he will be more than happy to give you the audience you seek."

Rhianna was willing and more than able to play politics when necessary, but not like this. The man wasn't even the king, and he wouldn't grant her an audience? And what was it the deshyr they'd met in the tavern had said? Harrowmont had lied about a gift of property, in an attempt to garner votes. That rather put the lie to Forender's claim of trustworthiness.

"No thank you," she replied. "If Lord Harrowmont changes his mind, and decides he is willing to speak with us, he can leave word at the Grey Warden compound."

With that, she left the estate, her companions close behind.

"Ridiculous," Zevran said, once they were back in the street.

"I agree." Rhianna shook her head. "I can't understand why the man wouldn't even agree to meet with us. He can't honestly think we're spying on him, and even if we were, what harm would there be in sitting down for a few minutes to talk? Unless he thinks we're going to assassinate him on the spot."

"Perhaps that is the way things are done here in dwarven society," Leliana suggested. "It might seem impossible to this man that you would come without such an agenda. I do not know enough about dwarven culture to guess what might be going on his head. Certainly, in Orlais, all of the nobles are always on the lookout for potential spies. Of course," she chuckled, "we have a very different way of dealing with it. You would never deny an audience with someone for that reason. Few things are more exciting than entertaining a suspected spy in one's home."

"I never thought of it like that," Rhianna admitted. "Then again, I never quite got the hang of Orlesian politics."

"What shall we do now?" Zevran asked. "While we wait for Bhelen's messenger to find us?"

"I have some things I'd like to try and sell," Rhianna replied. "Trinkets and weapons I've collected during our travels. Let's go to the Commons, and have a wander through the shops."

The Commons was busier than it had been the day before, and the bustle and noise were a welcome distraction.

A sign caught her eye: "Figor's Imports." That sounded like a decent place to try and sell her "surfacer" goods. Hopefully dwarves would be interested in buying some of these things, especially now that the city was closed to most visitors.

But when they entered the shop, they found the proprietor engaged in some sort of . . . negotiation.

"It'd be a shame if something happened here . . . if everything in your store, say, burned down to the stone."

The dwarf who had spoken wore somewhat shabby leather armor, but the weapons strapped to his back looked to be in good shape. He was accompanied by two other dwarves, both of whom were similarly attired. All three of them had facial tattoos: geometric patterns in dark ink.

"I already paid, last week," the storekeeper insisted. "I can't afford more. With Orzammar closed to trade with the surface, I'm barely staying afloat as it is! I don't have money unless I sell things, but no one seems to be buying right now."

"Jarvia isn't interested in your sob stories," the first man replied. "She's only interested in sovereigns. I'm sure you don't want to make her angry, do you?"

Lovely. They'd walked in on an extortion attempt in progress.

"Excuse me." Rhianna approached, with her companions close behind. "I trust we're not interrupting anything?"

The shopkeeper's eyes grew wide. "I'm sorry, but the shop is closed at the moment. Please, come back later."

"Is there a problem here?" Alistair took a step closer. "Are these men threatening you?"

"Well, well." One of the thugs turned to face the newcomers. "Looks like we have visitors."

"Please," the shopkeeper insisted, "don't get involved with this. You don't know what they're like. Just come back later, and I'll be happy to do business with you."

"Oh, no," the first dwarf said. "No reason for you to leave in a hurry. Allow me to make some introductions. My name is Garlon, and I work for Jarvia, who offers protection from the . . . chaos. These are dangerous times in Orzammar, what with the old king dead, and the city in an uproar." He looked Rhianna up and down. "I notice that you and your friends are wearing some fancy stuff there. Might make you a . . . target."

This was all too reminiscent of the poachers she and Loghain had encountered near Highever. Although these men were better dressed and somewhat less filthy.

"A target? Is that so?" Rhianna crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Oh yes." Garlon smiled. "Lucky for you, the merciful Jarvia offers protection. A guarantee of safety for the duration of your stay, for the reasonable price of ten sovereigns. Quite a bargain, I assure you. I strongly suggest you take us up on this offer. Or I can't say what might happen."

"Ten sovereigns?" Rhianna blinked. "Is that one lump sum for all of us, or ten apiece?"

The dwarf arched a brow, as though surprised by the question.

Alistair leaned close. "You're not actually thinking about  _paying_  them, are you?"

"Of course not," she laughed. "They'll get money from me over my dead body, and I'm not going to sit by while they extort money from this shopkeeper, either. I'm just curious how enterprising these fellows really are."

"Jarvia doesn't look kindly upon those who turn down her generous offer," the dwarf said. "And that will be ten sovereigns apiece. I suggest you pay up. Now." He fingered the dagger at his belt. "Of course, taking the money from your 'dead body' works just fine for me, if that's what you'd prefer."

"Are you serious?" There was laughter in Daveth's voice. "Have you had a look at her? That sword strapped to her back isn't merely decorative, you know."

"Not to mention that there are five of us," Alistair added, "and only three of you."

The dwarven thug took a small step backward.

"I think it's time you and your 'friends' moved along," Rhianna said. "You can tell Jarvia that I'm happy to discuss this with her in person whenever she would like. She can find me at the Grey Warden Compound in the Diamond Quarter. In the meantime, I have some business to discuss with the gentleman who owns this shop." Rhianna casually reached up and drew her own dagger, and held it loosely in her hand while she pretended to study the red steel blade. "Unless you would prefer to sort this out some other way?"

"A Grey Warden?" He held up his hands, palms forward, in a gesture of surrender. "I . . . I didn't realize. I'm sure Jarvia will wish to offer her . . . uh . . . hospitality free of charge, all things considered." The man glanced at his two companions. "Let's go, boys."

The three dwarves scurried past, and left the shop through the front door.

The shopkeeper stepped forward. "Ancestors bless you for saving my poor store. I don't know how to express my gratitude."

"You're welcome. Not that chasing them off this one time will do you any good in the long run, will it?"

"Perhaps not, but even a small reprieve is most welcome, what with business the way its been lately. My name is Figor. What can I help you with today?"

"I'm interested in selling some things, if you have cash on hand. But first, I suppose I'm curious about those men. They work for someone named Jarvia? Who is she?"

"Jarvia is the head of the carta that operates out of Dust Town. They're a band of casteless thugs and petty criminals that are to blame for just about all of the crime in Orzammar."

"Casteless?" Alistair asked. "I've heard people talking about castes, but I'm not sure what that means."

"Your caste is your position in dwarven society," Figor explained. "Whether you're born a noble, or a merchant. An artisan, or a smith, or a servant. Those with no caste are abominations. Born with no  _kalna -_ no acknowledgement by the Shaper of Memories. They're the children of criminals, declared irredeemable by the ancestors, and destined to be criminals themselves. I suppose it's little surprise they join the carta, considering they had no business even being born in the first place."

"No business being born?" Daveth crossed his arms in front of his chest. "That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

"Did you see the fellows who were just in here? You can't tell me that they've ever contributed anything worthwhile to society. And the whole of Dust Town is crammed full of others just like them."

"And Jarvia is one of the casteless?" Rhianna asked.

"Yes. All the carta members are. Used to be they only caused trouble in Dust Town, but they've grown bolder since Good King Endrin's death. Now, as you can see, they've moved into shaking down honest folk for hard-earned coin."

"Perhaps they would not turn to crime," Zevran began, "if they had more opportunities within this 'caste' system? Being destined a criminal from birth hardly seems a good place to start."

Figor arched a brow. "Maybe it's different up on the surface, but down here, this is the way things work. It's the way things have always worked, and Ancestors willing, it's the way things will work far into the future. Just one more reason Lord Harrowmont should be the one to sit on the throne. Bhelen has some strange ideas about things."

Rhianna hadn't been in Orzammar long enough to fully understand all the ins and outs of dwarven society, but this idea that an entire group of people were worthless from birth left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Well, hopefully you won't be bothered by the carta again anytime soon."

"Eh, they'll be back eventually, but any reprieve is better than none. Now, can I interest in you in any of my wares? I'd even be happy to offer a discount, on account of the help you gave me."

"No, thank you," she replied. "As I said, I'm interested in selling, not buying."

"That's unfortunate," Figor said. "I'm not really in a position to buy at the moment. If I'd had cash in the first place, I wouldn't have even tried to argue with those carta thugs. Save myself the cost of whatever they would have busted up if you hadn't arrived when you did."

"I understand. Perhaps another time, then."

"Of course." His shoulders sagged. "Just remember to think of Figor next time you're in the market for something."

After they left the shop, Alistair said, "Well, that was . . . unpleasant. Walking in on an extortion attempt. Although I'm not sure why I'm surprised. There's bound to be crime in Orzammar, same as everywhere else." He paused. "That business about being casteless sounds horrible, though."

"It is horrible," Zevran began. "But surely just because the word itself was unfamiliar, you have encountered the concept before. Or haven't you noticed that some people are considered from birth to be of more value than others?"

"Well, sure," Alistair shrugged. "But we don't have a whole group of people up on the surface who are considered criminals, just because."

"Don't we?" Daveth arched a brow. "When was the last time you were inside of an Alienage?"

"Well . . . never. Everyone knows it's not safe to go into the Alienage."

"I think you've just proved Zevran's point. Elves aren't treated as equals. Ever. Sounds a lot like this casteless business to me."

That was a good point. Rhianna hadn't thought about it like that before, but perhaps it was true. Even in Highever, she'd never really seen elves, except for the servants in the castle, and those few that worked on the docks. 

"Zevran," Leliana said, "did you grow up in an Alienage?"

"Who, me? Zevran laughed. "Oh no." He paused. "I grew up in a whorehouse, until the Crows decided they had some use for me."

"You grew up among prostitutes?" Leliana sounded surprised, but not scandalized. Of course, she hadn't always been a Chantry sister, had she?

"Indeed I did," he grinned. "During those first tender, formative years of my life."

He was raised in a brothel, and then bought by an assassins' guild? Maker. That was an . . . interesting life story. Almost against her will she found herself enjoying his company. The cadence of his voice, the little comments he made. He was funny, and insightful. In spite of wishing she could hate him for how he had appeared in her life, she found herself warming to him, just a little.

As they made their way through the Commons, Leliana asked Zevran another question, but something else caught Rhianna's attention. A woman knelt in front of a statue, as if in prayer. Was this some short of shrine?

Rhianna left the others and approached the woman, stopping a respectful distance away.

"Ancestors, guard my son," the woman prayed, "for he is lost in darkness. Mothers, keep him safe, for you know what it is to mourn."

Lost in darkness . . .

Just like Fergus.

The woman glanced over her shoulder, and stood. "I'm sorry. Did you have an offering for the ancestors? Although," she glanced at Rhianna from head to toe, "I can't imagine your ancestors reside in the stone."

"I'm sorry," Rhianna said. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just wondering if this is a . . . shrine." She glanced at the statue. "A shrine to one of the . . . ancestors?"

"I . . . uh, I'm sorry," the woman replied. "Shrine? I don't know that word. This is a section of stone kept bare to receive our prayers. You might not know this, but the Stone gave rise to our people, and it is where their spirits return in death."

There was, indeed, a patch of rough stone at the woman's feet. It wasn't, after all, the statue to which the woman had been praying.

"Did I hear you mention your son?" Rhianna asked.

"Yes. I pray here every day for my son, Ruck. I only wish I knew whether I should be asking for his safe return, or for the ancestors to accept his soul."

Just like Fergus.

"What happened to him? If you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind," she said. "It was five years ago. He was only a youngster, but he wanted to go out and prove himself a man. So he joined a Deep Roads expedition - the only smith to go with the warriors who were out hunting darkspawn." Her lips curved into a weak smile. "He was there to repair their arms. He was so proud to be going on this mission." The smile faded. "But somehow he got . . . separated from the others. When they returned, he wasn't with them."

"What do you mean, he got separated? Did none of the others bother to try and find him?"

She shrugged. "The captains don't want to lose anyone searching for stray men. Too many get taken by darkspawn that way. And probably that's what happened to my boy anyway. He got taken by . . . those creatures." She bit her bottom lip. "Even so, I still wonder if maybe he didn't. Maybe he's still alive down there. Everyone says there's no way he could have survived a week on his own, let alone all this time. But somehow . . . I can't bring myself to give up hope."

"I know how that feels," Rhianna murmured. "My brother disappeared a few months ago. Into the Korcari Wilds. I suppose it's not unlike the Deep Roads, but up on the surface. Overrun with monsters and barbarians, and now darkspawn as well, so I haven't been able to go looking for him. I can't bring myself to give up hope yet, either. Do you think the . . . ancestors would mind if I said a prayer? For your Ruck, and for my brother?"

"I can't imagine they would mind. My name is Filda, by the way. Widow of Teruck of the Smith Caste."

Widow. She'd lost not only her son, but her husband as well.

"I'm Rhianna. I'm a Grey Warden."

"Yes." She gave another weak smile. "I had guessed that much. You're a bit too tall to be from here."

The two women knelt, side by side, and Rhianna bent her head.

_Blessed Andraste . . . Ancestors . . . anyone who might be listening. Please let Fergus and Ruck be safe and comfortable, wherever they may be. And let them come home to us. Soon._

‹›‹O›‹›

The companions decided to make a stop at Tapsters, where Corra greeted them with a broad smile, and promised a round of drinks right away.

Before they had barely settled in to their seats, a dwarf approached the table. He had bright red hair, and a beard braided into two thick plaits. His face was flushed and his eyes were red, and even from several feet away, the smell of alcohol was apparent on his breath.

"Hey! You're those Grey Wardens, aren't you?" He swayed as he took another step toward them. "I heard all about you, coming from the surface. Great crisis in the world!" His voice was somewhat louder than necessary, and he took another unsteady step forward.

"It seems that someone here enjoys the dwarven ale," Zevran joked under his breath.

"But you're going about things all  _wrong_!" He stabbed a finger in Rhianna's direction. "Why can't you see that you don't need a king to face a blight? You need a Paragon!"

Rhianna glanced at Daveth. He shrugged at her, an amused smile on his face.

"And who might you be?" Rhianna asked.

"Me?" He belched. "I'm Oghren. When I first heard you were here, I figured you'd be the ones, you know, who could help me find Branka. But now I hear you're running around town, trying to talk to  _Prince_  Bhelen. I guess you're just like all the rest. Stupid."

"Prince Bhelen?" Rhianna's eyes narrowed. "Of course we're trying to talk to him. We need assistance from the dwarves, to fight the darkspawn on the surface."

"Ahhhhh," he growled. "I know Bhelen's been poking around, trying to find things out about her." The dwarf set the palms of his hands on the table, and leaned forward. "Wants to know what she was looking for. He wants it for himself. A little blessing from the ancients' technology, and he's assured the throne, is that it? I want to know what he knows, but he won't tell me spit." He leaned closer, and swayed dangerously. "What did he tell you?"

"We haven't even spoken with Prince Bhelen yet," Rhianna replied. "And ancient techonology? I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play coy with me! You  _are_  looking for it. Of course you are! That's all anyone cares about. Did your boss send you here to butter me up or what?" He stood up straight, and swayed precariously. His eyes grew wide, as though he feared he were about to fall over, but then he managed to balance himself again. "Well, I'm not going to tell you spit about what I know, either, and you can't make me. If you want the secrets of a Paragon, do the work and find her. Yourselves. In the meantime, sod off and sod your mother, too." He turned away. "I need a bleeding drink."

As he walked away, he stumbled, losing his balance, but managed catch himself on the bar. "Corra," he shouted. "Get me some ale!"

One of his elbows slipped out from under him, and he collapsed to the floor with a loud thud.

Everyone nearby turned to look at him, as though waiting to see if he would pull himself back up to his feet.

He didn't.

Corra walked over and pushed at him with her foot, until he was under the overhang of the bar, and no longer blocking traffic through the aisle, and then she went back to what she had been doing.

The way everyone took it in stride suggested this was not an uncommon occurrence.

"What in the Maker's name was that all about?" Alistair asked.

"Oghren's a drunken wretch. He starts spouting off like this two or three times a week, hounding people to lead some suicidal rescue mission after Branka." The man who spoke was a dwarf, also red-haired, wearing high quality plate. "Can you believe it? Oghren's barely even Warrior Caste anymore, but he goes stomping all over the place like he's entitled. I'm Loilinar Ivo, by the way. Warrior. Which is more than I can say for him." The man pulled up a chair and sat near Rhianna.

"Who was he talking about? This Branka?" Zevran asked.

"She is a Paragon. The only one of our generation," Ivo explained. "She invented a smokeless fuel that let the Smith Caste increase their output by nearly a third. Deaths from the black lung dropped, too. The Assembly said she had the favor of the Ancestors and declared her a Paragon. They moved her and her family into the Noble Caste, and founded a new house in her name. Then, two years ago, she up and left. Took her entire house with her out into the Deep Roads, chasing after some old treasure. Now, Oghren is convinced that she's still alive, and he's determined to try and find her. Only no one in Orzammar is crazy enough to go out there with him."

"Why is he so determined to find her?" Alistair asked.

"She's still his wife, isn't she? Even though she took their entire house into the Deep Roads and abandoned him. Which, I suppose, is part of the reason he drowns himself regularly." He chuckled. "I know it might sound bizarre - a genius like her, married to that worthless sod, but before she was a Paragon, she was just a smith, and Oghren was one of the best warriors of his generation. But it's been two years since Branka left. No one has ever stayed in the Deep Roads that long and survived. She's gone for good, no matter what Oghren says. Paragon or not, the Deep Roads are no place for a lady smith." He gestured toward Oghren, who remained passed out on the floor. "Besides, even if she were still alive, there's no reason to think she'd want Oghren to come and find her. He might have been her husband, but when she left, she took the whole house, after all. The whole house  _but_  him."

"So, what was she looking for out there?" Rhianna asked. "Oghren wasn't particularly clear on that point."

"Who knows? She was quite secretive. Outright rude, really. She threatened anyone who said they'd come after her." He paused. "I've heard Oghren say that Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void, although that seems . . . far-fetched, at best. And it's not like anything that comes out of Oghren's mouth can be trusted."

"The Anvil of the Void?" Zevran arched a brow. "Something with a name like that sounds . . . ominous. Just what is the purpose of this Anvil?"

Ivo squinted at Zevran, as though surprised by the question. "Oh, right. You're from the surface." He laughed again. "The Anvil of the Void is only the most important invention in Orzammar's history. It was built by the Paragon Caridin, a smith, and he used it to forge golems. You know what those are, I hope?"

Golems? Perhaps someone here in Orzammar would have some advice about the control rod that sat in the bottom of her pack.

"Yes," Zevran replied. "I am familiar with the concept, although I will admit I have never actually seen one."

"Few people have, these days," Ivo said. "That invention brought Orzammar a hundred years of peace, while the city was protected by the golems forged on the Anvil. But then Caridin disappeared, and took the Anvil and its secrets with him. With no new golems being created, we were once again vulnerable to the darkspawn. No idea where he went - he died, probably - and ever since, people have talked about going to find the Anvil. Branka was just the first one crazy enough to actually try."

"No . . . no . . . not . . . drunk." Oghren's voice was just loud enough to be heard throughout the tavern. "See, I can still take my trousers off. Can't be . . . drunk."

Fortunately for everyone else in the tavern, he seemed to be talking in his sleep, and was not actually in the process of removing any of his clothes.

"Probably Branka was crazy all along," Ivo mused aloud. "I mean, she married  _that_ , after all."

Corra brought the drinks they had ordered - whiskey for Rhianna; the dwarven ale she'd tried the previous day tasted vaguely of lichen, so she intended to avoid it as much as possible. As the barmaid set their drinks on the table, a young girl approached.

"Message from Vartag Gavorn, for the Grey Wardens!"

"We're the Grey Wardens," Rhianna replied, although surely that was obvious, given they were the only non-dwarves she'd seen in Orzammar.

"Prince Bhelen is ready to meet with you at your convenience. Please meet him in the Royal Palace." With a quick bow, the messenger scampered off again.

"That was quick," Alistair said.

"Yes it was," Zevran agreed. "Now the man  _definitely_  has my vote. Not that I actually get to vote. But if I could? Bhelen would be the man."

"I agree it makes a good impression that he's at least willing to talk to us," Rhianna said.

Once they'd finished their drinks, they made their way back to the Diamond Quarter. The Royal Palace was easy to find - it was an immense building, with a beautiful facade that stretched high overhead. Vortag Gavorn awaited them on the steps.

"Welcome, Grey Wardens! Thank you for your prompt return. Prince Bhelen is eager to speak with you."

"We are equally eager to meet with him," Rhianna replied, "and grateful for the opportunity."

The dwarf led them inside and through a series of huge rooms and long hallways, all decorated with luxurious, ornate furnishings. The floors were inlaid with highly polished stone, and the ceilings stretched high overhead. It was almost possible to forget that this entire city was deep inside the earth.

Daveth leaned close. "This is the royal palace, eh? I wonder what sorts of trinkets might be lying around." He grinned, and wiggled his fingers.

"Daveth! Don't even  _think_  about it!"

"Hah!" He winked at her. "Don't worry, I'm just teasing. I have no intention of being thrown in some underground prison for the sake of something shiny."

Rhianna let out a breath. "Good. We really don't want to be delayed any longer than necessary. Orzammar is nice enough, but I am already itching to be back out in the sunshine."

"I hear you on that one, boss," he grinned.

Gavorn brought them to a well-furnished room that appeared to be part of the family's private quarters. A young dwarf with light red hair - one of the men who had been arguing in the courtyard the previous day - stood to greet them.

"Greetings, Grey Wardens. I am Bhelen, Prince of Orzammar and rightful heir to the throne."

"I am Rhianna Cousland. Grey Warden." She gave a warrior's bow, which Bhelen returned. "Thank you for seeing us."

"Of course. I am always happy to welcome Grey Wardens to Orzammar. The Wardens have been friends to my people for many ages. And I must say, I am impressed. The fact that you are here, rather than at Harrowmont's estate, indicates that you have grasped Orzammar's rather convoluted politics more quickly than most outsiders manage."

"I'm the daughter of a teyrn, so politics are not unfamiliar to me. Although to be completely honest, we did attempt to speak with Harrowmont, but his seneschal turned us away. I am very grateful yours did not do the same."

"Fair enough." Bhelen gave a very bright smile. "I appreciate honesty. And I can't say I'm surprised that you received no satisfaction from Harrowmont. He has spent his life in the Assembly. He only knows how to lead through compromise and capitulation. That's not what Orzammar needs." He gestured to a nearby table. "Please, let us sit."

After everyone had settled themselves around the table, Rhianna said, "As I'm sure you have guessed, our primary concern is the Blight that is happening on the surface. I have a treaty that obliges Orzammar to send troops to the surface in the event of a blight, and I am hoping to find someone who will agree to send us this help."

"Yes, I have seen this treaty in the shapers' libraries." Bhelen leaned forward. "As far as I am concerned, there is only one thing of importance when I take the throne: the Blight. While this is not yet a dwarven problem, eventually the Blight will reach its tendrils underground, if the archdemon is not stopped. We need absolute unity to fight against the fulcrum of true evil." He sat back in his chair. "To that end, Orzammar needs a strong leader, someone who can stand up to the Assembly. Someone who will rule, not persuade. I am the king Orzammar needs. The king the Grey Wardens need, so we can work together against the darkspawn."

Strong words, and no doubt spoken solely for Rhianna's benefit. There was no chance he truly held the Blight as his highest priority. Then again, she didn't really care about the full spectrum of his priorities, as long as she received the assistance she required.

"Then you'll honor the treaties with the Wardens?"

"Absolutely. I swear as much on the mail of my ancestors. My father was always on good terms with the humans of Ferelden, and that is a tradition I fully intend to uphold. The dwarves of Orzammar will stand with you against the darkspawn . . . as soon as I have the authority to command them." He shrugged. "Unfortunately, while this debate rages, my hands are tied. I cannot send the troops you need, nor could anyone else in Orzammar. You will only have the assistance you request as soon as Orzammar is united under my rule."

Ah, yes. Just like that, Bhelen's top priority became apparent.

"I understand. From what we've seen, there does not seem to be a consensus one way or the other about who should be king. How much longer do you expect this debate over the succession to continue?"

"To be honest, it could continue indefinitely." He arched a brow. "Unless something happens to tip the scale one way or another."

"I suppose there is something you think we could do to help . . . tip that scale?"

"Yes." A grin spread across his face. "You are, indeed, no stranger to politics. There is something you and your associates could do to help." He paused. "There is a woman called Jarvia, in Dust Town. She's the leader of the carta that operates from that part of the city. Casteless criminals, all of them. And while I have some sympathy for the plight of those who are forced to live in Dust Town - it's hard to become anything other than a criminal when you're shunned by the rest of society - since the death of my father, Jarvia and her carta have taken things to a new extreme. They are behind much of the bedlam happening throughout Orzammar at present."

"Yes," Zevran said. "We had an . . . encounter with some of this Jarvia's men. They were trying to shake down a store keeper for 'protection' money."

"Exactly. That's the sort of thing I must stop if I hope to get the support of the deshyrs. So . . . if you can eliminate Jarvia, it would pull the rug out from beneath the carta. And once the deshyrs understand that this was a collaboration between the two of us, I will be that much closer to claiming the throne, and having the means to send as many troops as you need to fight the darkspawn."

At least he got right to the point.

"But why," Rhianna began, "do you need us to handle this for you? Surely, you have soldiers who could go after the carta, and shut it down."

"Oh, I have soldiers. What I don't have is any useful information on Jarvia, or her base of operations in Dust Town. You've got to understand, the casteless live by their own set of rules, and my men have few sources there. I've sent soldiers, but no one will talk to them, and short of massacring everyone in the district, there's not much more I can do. I've no doubt Jarvia is terrorizing the honest people of Dust Town at least as much as she is harassing those of us higher up, but I can't get a foot in the door to go after her. That's why I thought perhaps you could help. It's possible that the casteless will talk more freely with a stranger."

At least Bhelen seemed to believe there were honest people in Dust Town, which is more than could be said for the merchant, Figor. And if this was the quickest way to get someone on the throne, someone who would send aid against the darkspawn, then that's what she'd do. In truth, it wasn't all that different from Harrowmont's request that they fight in the Proving to bolster his reputation, but at least Bhelen was willing to ask directly, rather than having a messenger do it for him.

Either way, it seemed that backing one of the two candidates was the only way she would get any satisfaction from the dwarves, so she might as well get to it.

"I'll look into it," she agreed. "Find out whatever I can about this woman." She paused. "To be honest, after being threatened by some of her men earlier today, I wouldn't mind meeting her face to face. We'll head over to Dust Town, and see what we can learn."

"I appreciate that, I truly do. That is all I can ask. Just remember that I can be of no help until this problem is solved. And every minute we wait, more darkspawn swarm into human lands."

What was it that Lord Helmi had said? That Bhelen was "subtle as sin?"

Not today he wasn't.

But if this is what it took to get aid from the dwarves, so be it.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair, as well as to all my lovely reviewers: Vicky79, Kenedii, KatDancer, Irish_Changeling, and Yarnandtea.


	41. Leave the pretty one alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions venture into Dust Town, in search of Jarvia and her carta.

__**19 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Orzammar** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Squalor. That was the word that came to mind when Rhianna first set foot in Dust Town.

A foul odor hung in the air, caused no doubt by the stinking piles of refuse that lined the streets. She and her companions walked on uneven cobbles past stone buildings in various states of disrepair. Some of the buildings must have been magnificent once upon a time – ornate palaces and mansions – but now, many of them were in ruins, crumbled almost to rubble with whole walls missing, and no roofs overhead. Even so, they were apparently still in use, judging by the presence of squatters who sat inside, with their little piles of blankets and belongings, but no actual furnishings.

People loitered in the streets, as well: dwarves with tattooed faces, who sat on the ground or huddled in shadows, their eyes intent on the surfacers as they passed. There were even people sleeping right on the street, just laying on the bare stone. Rats scurried brazenly, as though confident no one would bother them, and there was an uncomfortable silence in the quarter - no laughter, or good-natured haggling, as could be heard in the Commons, and no town crier reporting current events.

It was unlike anything Rhianna had seen before.

"Oh dear," Wynne said. "The differences between this side of town and the others are . . . striking."

What was it Zevran had said? "Is this what an alienage is like?" Rhianna wondered aloud.

"More or less," Zevran replied. "There are fewer people here than would be found in the typical alienage - the one in Val Royeaux is particularly overcrowded - but, other than that, the conditions are not dissimilar. Neither is the smell."

Before Rhianna could ask anything more, a group of dwarves stepped out into the middle of the street, blocking the way.

"You lot must have made a wrong turn somewhere, because you clearly don't belong here." The dwarf who spoke had dusty blonde hair, pulled back into a queue at the back of her head, and a dark tattoo crisscrossed her cheek.

One of the others laughed. "Maybe we should give them directions on how to get back to the Commons."

"Or maybe," another chimed in, "we should just sell their kit. Once we cut them out of it."

Apparently, they reached some consensus with that last suggestion because, with a round of raucous laughter, the dwarves attacked. No demands, no threats. They just attacked.

Unfortunately for the bandits, their ill-assorted armor and rusty weapons were no match for Rhianna and her friends. After one of them fell beneath Alistair's sword, the others scurried away, spitting curses as they ran.

Leliana poked at the dead dwarf with the toe of her boot. "I wonder if they were members of the Carta."

"Not likely," Daveth replied, "with such poor quality gear. Although if this is the caliber of the carta's members, I won't complain. They turned tail and ran even more quickly than those fellows in the shop yesterday."

They continued to the end of the main street, to what seemed to be the central "courtyard" of the quarter. At their approach, a few dwarves darted away, out of sight, but most merely stared through narrowed eyes, looking away when Rhianna glanced in their direction. Only one woman tried to catch Rhianna's eye.

"Well, look at that." The woman, whose reddish hair hung to her shoulders, struggled to her feet. One of her legs was twisted, but the woman smiled and gave a shallow bow. "It's not often ol' Nadzeda sees a fine-dressed stranger here in Dust Town. Help a poor cripple?"

"I'm sure I can spare a few coins." Rhianna reached into her satchel and pulled out five silvers. She held them out, and Nadzeda plucked them from Rhianna's palm.

"Thank you, kindly."

Rhianna leaned closer. "You know, I'd be willing to part with a few more. If you would answer some questions for me?"

"Questions?" Nadzeda shrugged. "Sure, I can answer questions. What do you want to know?"

"I'm curious about a woman named Jarvia. Do you know her?"

"Know her? I used to run with her, back before she took over the carta. I'd be working for her still, if it weren't for an . . . accident that didn't heal well." She gestured toward her misshapen leg. "No use for a thief who can't run fast enough to get out of trouble, is there?" She gave a harsh laugh. "Anyway, Jarvia took over the carta not three months ago, and already she's got every duster who can carry a sword doing her bidding."

"Where can I find her?"

Nadzeda arched a brow. "Now, what would you want to do a thing like that for? She's not known for her hospitality. Especially not to outsiders."

"I'm already familiar with her brand of hospitality," Rhianna replied. "Met a few of her boys up in the Commons. They were quite generous in their offer of 'protection.' For a fee, of course, which I declined to pay."

She laughed. "Some of Jarvia's boys tried to shake you down up there? Stupid nug humpers. Still, that was the Commons. You're in her world now. I'm not sure it's a good idea to kick that nest of deepstalkers, if you know what I mean."

"Nevertheless, I would like to speak with her."

"Well, all right," Nadzeda shrugged. "It's your funeral. Jarvia mostly stays tucked away in the carta's headquarters, which stretch out under the city. The problem is finding the way in. Back when Beraht ran the carta, things were a bit . . . looser. He thought he owned Dust Town, and didn't expect anyone to challenge him. It was probably that cocky attitude that cost him his life." She laughed. "Anyway, after Jarvia eliminated him, and took over the carta's operations, she got real paranoid. There are doors that lead down into the base all over the city. There's one just there, for example." She pointed at a building nearby. "Trouble is, she's got all the carta members carrying these finger-bone tokens. She scratches some mark into them, so she'll know they came from her, and if you show up at one of the doors without one, you'll never get in." She let out a sigh. "Like I said, one of the doors is right there, but I can't help you with a token,  _salroka_. The carta members keep real tight hold of them. And, as I'm no longer a member, here I sit. Tokenless. And dependent upon the kindness of strangers." She put her hand out, and wiggled her fingers. "Hopefully that's good enough for that coin you promised?"

"More than good enough." Rhianna handed her a pair of gold sovereigns. "Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome." Nadzeda gave a toothy smile, and tucked the coins into a pocket. "That's more than generous. I'll think of you when I go to bed with a full stomach for the next few nights."

Rhianna led the way to the building Nadzeda had indicated was the entrance to the carta's base. The door was indeed locked, with no sign of any sort of lock Rhianna could pick. There was, however, a small slot concealed in a crack in the stone, just the right size and shape for something long and thin - like a finger bone - to pass through.

"So," she asked the others, "how do we go about finding our way inside?"

"Inside?" Alistair's eyes widened. "That woman said that's the base of the entire carta, right? Do you really think we ought to just wander in? Why not go to Bhelen with the information we found. That's what he wanted, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid the prince won't be satisfied with mere information," Zevran replied. "He wants Jarvia out of the way, and if we are to do that, no doubt, entering her base will be the best way to find her. She has ignored our leader's earlier invitation, after all." He turned to Rhianna. "As to your first question, one of those finger-bone tokens would be handy. I suppose we will have to find some carta members who are out and about. It's a pity we didn't know sooner; we could have asked the fellow in the import shop to part with his. I suppose we could return to the Commons and wait for another group of thugs to threaten a shopkeeper."

"Or we could just stay here." Daveth nodded toward the courtyard. "I have a feeling we don't have to look for the carta. I think they've just found us."

Indeed they had.

The courtyard was now utterly deserted, except for the group of unsmiling dwarves that strode toward Rhianna and her companions. There were a dozen of them, and, like the thugs she'd encountered in the import shop, these men were all dressed in well-worn armor, but carried weapons that looked more than serviceable.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here." The man who spoke had dark hair that was greying around the temples. "Jarvia said you were looking for trouble. Congratulations. You found it."

With that, the dwarves attacked. They were decent fighters, with a quick and dirty brawling style Rhianna hadn't encountered before, but they were no match for Rhianna's bunch of fighters, archers and mages.

When three of them were dead, and the rest bloodied, the dwarf who had challenged them signaled his fellows to stop fighting, and raised his hands in surrender. "D-don't kill us! Sodding ancestors, what do they teach you on the surface? You fight like a bleedin' archdemon!"

Rhianna had no patience for small talk. "I need to get into Jarvia's base. Which means I need you to give me one of those tokens that will open this door."

"No." He waved his hands in front of him. "Jarvia will kill me if I do something that like!"

"Well, we'll kill you if you don't," Daveth said. "We need one of those tokens, and I'm not inclined to cut you a break, considering you just attacked us in the street."

"Come on, please! Do you think I  _like_  doing these things? I've got a kid, and no other way to bring in coin. I can't afford to get on Jarvia's bad side."

What was it Bhelen had said? The citizens of Dust Town didn't have much choice in the lives they fell into. No doubt this man spoke the truth: there was no honest work available for a casteless dwarf like him.

"It's my intention that you won't have to worry about Jarvia after tonight," Rhianna said. "So just give us the token, and you'll be free to go."

Zevran leaned close to whisper in her ear. "It would be smarter to let me slit his throat, so he cannot run ahead to warn this woman before we can get to her."

She turned to him. "I know," she murmured. "But I . . . I can't let you do that. We'll take our chances."

"As you wish."

"The token?" She held her hand out to the dwarf.

"All right, all right. Here." He fumbled through his pocket. "Put this through the slot and the door will open." He handed her what appeared to be an actual finger bone, with notches carved into its surface. "Now, w-will . . . will you let us go?"

"Yes. Go."

"R-really?" His eyes widened. Apparently, he hadn't expected mercy.

"Yes, really. But stay far away from Jarvia. If I see you again, or find out you've warned her that we're coming, you'll be the first to die."

"She'll hear nothing about this from me," he insisted. "You're a . . . a good person. How do they say it upstairs? The Ancestors have shown their favor? Bless you." With that, he hurried back across the courtyard, the others in his wake.

Rhianna considered the finger bone in her hand, and glanced at her companions. "Shall we do this?"

"Yes, lets," Alistair replied. "It still seems like a really bad idea, so we might as well get it over with as soon as possible."

That actually brought a smile to her face.

"All right, then." She stepped up to the door, and slid the finger bone into the hole. With a soft click, the door swung open.

Rather than a house, as she had expected, they entered a tunnel, roughly hewn from the stone. Rhianna's stomach fluttered at how close the roof of the tunnel was above her head, but thankfully, it was well lit, and they didn't have far to travel before they came to another door.

Beyond that door was a room of normal proportions. Rhianna's pleasure at being out of the tunnel was short-lived, though, when they were approached by a well-armed guard.

"What's the password?"

Was that a real question? Did he honestly think that Rhianna and her companions were supposed to be here? Then again, in glancing around the room at the other guards, she discovered that not all of them were dwarves. There was a human, two elves, and - most surprising of all - a huge Qunari who stood unsmiling in the corner.

Perhaps the guard thought they were mercenaries from Ferelden, come to earn some coin in the carta's service. Why anyone would choose to live down here, after having lived on the surface, was beyond her. But there was no time to ponder that now.

"Password?" She tilted her head to one side. "Oh yes, that. If I'm not mistaken, the password is 'Jarvia sucks lizard eggs.'"

The dwarf crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Looks like we have a martyr here, boys."

‹›‹O›‹›

That battle, like the one in the courtyard, didn't take long, although these guards were fitted with better arms and armor. Once the guards were dead, Rhianna and her companions spent the next few hours exploring the carta's base in search of Jarvia, a task that proved far more unpleasant than Rhianna could have imagined.

The base turned out to be an extensive warren of buildings connected by tunnels. It was difficult to keep track of direction down here, but Rhianna guessed that the base probably extended out beyond Dust Town, stretching underneath the Commons, as well. All along the way, they had to fight through groups of guards and mercenaries.

This wasn't the unpleasant part, though. The problem was the tunnels.

As they went deeper into the base, the habitations were fewer and farther between, and they spent more time in rough and increasingly cramped tunnels. With no lava to provide illumination, the tunnels were poorly lit with torches, or not lit at all, and required a light from Morrigan's staff to be navigated. While they were inside of a proper building - something that looked like the room of a house on the surface – Rhianna could pretend nothing was wrong. But in the tunnels, the clearance only a few feet above her head, it was impossible to forget that on the other side was not the open sky, but some unimaginable amount of sold rock.

If the torches were to go out, or Morrigan's magic failed, they would be plunged into a profound, unspeakable darkness.

And what if the weight of that rock became more than the tunnel could bear, and the tunnel collapsed? Everything above would come crashing down, crushing her beneath its weight. Or, worse yet, burying her alive.

If that happened, there was no chance of being rescued. The only people who knew they were here were Bhelen – who'd already said his own soldiers hadn't been able to get inside of the base – and, eventually, Jarvia, who would certainly have no motivation to help a bunch of surfacers who had come to challenge her.

Rhianna's stomach fluttered, and something like panic began to expand in her chest. Her heart beat faster, and she had to focus on her breath, to keep from hyperventilating and making herself sick. She wanted to turn and run back the way they'd come. Back out of the tunnels and Dust Town, out of Orzammar entirely. Back out into the sunshine and fresh air. Back up to the surface. This idea of living underground was unfathomable and horrid, and she just wanted to be away from here – away from all this darkness and stone - forever.

Dane trotted close beside her, much closer than usual. Occasionally, he licked her hand and whined softly, in comfort. Grateful for his presence, she quickened her pace, and took one deep breath after another, her eyes on the floor beneath her feet. It was all right to think about the rock beneath them, solid and strong, so long as she didn't think about the rock overhead.

Almost unbelievably, after a particularly long stretch of tunnel, they came to a room in the carta's hideout that was arguably worse than the tunnels.

The room was dark and damp, and stank of urine and sweat and something like rotting apples and spoiled meat: the unmistakable odor of death. Three cells had been carved out of the rock, and closed off with solid iron bars.

A dungeon, like the one Rhianna had been locked away in, all those years ago.

Her breath came even faster now, and her stomach lurched uncomfortably, from the stink of death, and the vivid memories that assaulted her of the day she'd spent in that guard tower. She reached out and gripped one of the iron cell bars, to steady herself, and struggled to keep from throwing up.

"Hello?" A man's voice echoed in the room. "Please, whoever you are, let me out of here."

Rhianna squinted into the darkness in the direction of the voice.

Maker. Was someone locked away in one of these cells?

She gestured to Morrigan to come closer with the light . . . sure enough, a man was imprisoned here. He was young, with hair that was probably light brown when it was clean, and he had the now-familiar tattoos across his cheeks and his forehead that marked him as casteless. His clothing was little more than rags, and he was painfully thin.

Just how long had he been down here?

"You're not working for Jarvia, are you?" he asked. "Although, to be honest I don't care who you work for. Just please. Please, help me."

"Yes," she replied. "We'll get you out of there." Regardless of what he may have done to end up down here, no one deserved to starve to death in a place like this.

She had a look at the lock, but it appeared difficult to pick. Fortunately, the master key was easy enough to locate, where it hung on a peg near the door.

"Th-thank you," the man stuttered. "We've been down here for so long. I'm not even sure how long."

"We?" Rhianna glanced back into the man's cell. "There's someone else with you?"

"There . . . was. My friend . . ." The man shuffled over to one of the other cells, and peered through the bars. Inside, something lay on the ground - something that had once been a dwarf. Rhianna didn't look too closely. "He . . . he didn't make it . . . " Faren's hands clenched into fists. "And all for a stupid bet!" He shook his head, and turned back to Rhianna. "I'm sorry, _salroka_. You've just freed me from prison; the least I can do is introduce myself. My name is Faren. Faren Brosca. And you . . . well, you don't look like you're from around here."

"No, I'm not." She gave a quick bow of her head. "I'm Rhianna. I'm a Grey Warden, as are two of my friends here. We're here trying to get support from the dwarves to fight the darkspawn up on the surface."

"Darkspawn? Then what in the name of the Stone are you doing down here in the carta's headquarters? I can't imagine Jarvia would lift a finger to help anyone up on the surface."

"We were asked by Prince Bhelen to investigate Jarvia's operations." She paused. "Did you know that Endrin Aeducan is dead?"

"Aye," he said. "I heard the guards talking."

"Well, they still haven't chosen a new king. So we're here trying to help settle that matter, by eliminating Jarvia and her carta."

"Well, I'm glad you came along when you did. Although I would have preferred it if you'd come along somewhat sooner. Not sure how long I've been down here, to be honest. It seems like years, but it probably wasn't more than a month or three."

"What did you do to end up in here?" Alistair asked. "Or are we better off not knowing?"

"What did I do?" He scoffed. "Well, it would almost be a comedy of errors, if there was anything remotely funny about it." He took a deep breath. "Long story short, I was supposed to fix a Proving match for the carta, and things went rather spectacularly wrong. Leske and I - Leske, that's my friend, the dead fellow in there," he gestured at the other cell with his head, "got ourselves into a lot of trouble with Beraht, who used to run the carta. Managed to kill him, and for about five minutes, I thought were in the clear. Even had a wild thought about stepping up and taking over. But then that sodding wretch Jarvia blindsided us, and, well, we ended up in here." He looked up at Rhianna. "I don't suppose you're planning on killing Jarvia. That would make my day even better, especially if I could come along and help."

"Hang on." Daveth took a step toward Rhianna, as though he wanted to keep himself between her and this man they'd freed from the cell. "Aren't you a member of the carta?"

"Of course I'm a member of the carta. I'm not pretty enough to be a noble hunter, so my choices were rather limited. Join the carta, become a beggar, or starve to death. It wasn't really a difficult choice, especially since the folks recruiting for the carta don't really take 'no' for an answer."

Daveth crossed his arms in front of this chest. "Then why, exactly, should we trust you?"

"Fair question. I suppose, if I had any honor left, I could swear on it, but to be honest, all you have is my word. Which isn't worth much, really. But I didn't lock myself in that cell. Jarvia did that, and there's almost nothing I want more in this world than to watch her bleed to death in front of me."

Daveth arched a brow, and glanced at Rhianna. "Yeah, all right. Fair enough."

"You happen to be in luck," Rhianna added. "We're on our way to see Jarvia right now. I'd be more than willing to talk with her, but judging by the reception we've had so far, I suspect that killing might end up on the agenda, sooner or later."

"Then it's all right with you if I come along?"

"By all means. Find yourself a sword and some armor, and we'll be on our way. Do you happen to know where we might find her?"

For the first time, Faren smiled. "Indeed I do."

‹›‹O›‹›

"So, Bhelen finally sent someone other than his own incompetent soldiers."

The woman who stepped forward to "greet" them wore dwarven mail of exceptionally good quality, and had a matched pair of hand axes strapped to her back. Her hair was dark, and a tattoo snaked across her right cheek.

Jarvia.

Rhianna smiled. "According to Bhelen, you and your companions weren't very friendly. So he thought it wise to send someone else. Someone with whom you might be willing to . . . negotiate."

"Heh. Is this what passes for 'negotiations' up on the surface? From what I hear, you've left a trail of blood in your wake. Not that I mind, particularly. That's what hired mercenaries are for, after all. And now that you're here, trust me, I have all sorts of ideas about how to continue these 'negotiations,'  _salroka._ " She nodded at Faren. "You can vouch for the effectiveness of my techniques, can't you, Faren?"

"In a minute, you'll be able to vouch for the effectiveness of my axe in your throat," he growled.

"Oh, come now," she chuckled. "Is that any way to talk to an old friend? You know, it's not too late for you. Fight with us. You prove your loyalty to me, and I'll make sure it's well worth your while."

"No thank you." Faren tightened his grip in the axe in his hand. "You have nothing I want. Except your life."

"Suit yourself," Jarvia said with a shrug. "You're making a mistake, but it's hardly any skin off my nose. You picked the wrong side, you and your human friend here. What no one seems to understand is that it doesn't matter who's king. Not as long as there's a queen, running things from behind the scenes." She drew her weapons, and hefted them casually in her hands.

"You know, there needn't be more bloodshed," Rhianna said. "Bhelen just wants you out of the way. To be honest, I suspect he'd have been more than willing to let you do whatever you liked, had you stayed out of the Commons, but it's rather late for that now. Still, if you'll just come with me, willingly, I'll be happy to let all the rest of your men go, unharmed. I'd have spared the lives of the others, had they bothered to surrender."

"Why am I having a hard time believing you?" She laughed. "Maybe it's because those weapons look entirely too comfortable in your hands. And you don't seem bothered by being covered in blood. I like that about you. Not that it's going to help you any, in the long run." She turned her head, to shout over her shoulder at her guards. "Kill them! But leave the pretty one alive. I have plans for her."

Jarvia leapt at Rhianna, twin axes raised high. As Rhianna dodged the attack, a wave of heat washed over her from behind - someone had triggered a trap that caused a fiery explosion. Rhianna spun to face Jarvia, her longsword poised to parry the next blow, a blow that wasn't long in coming.

Jarvia was strong and fast, and one of her blows landed, tearing through Rhianna's armor, and leaving a gash in her upper arm. Gritting her teeth against the pain, before the dwarf had recovered from making her attack, Rhianna charged. Her dagger slid beneath one of Jarvia's greaves, and Rhianna yanked the blade sideways to do as much damage as possible to the dwarven woman's leg.

It worked. Jarvia doubled over, and when she tried to stand straight again, she seemed unable to put her full weight on the leg.

"You little bitch," she spat. "I'll string your pretty little teeth and wear them around my neck once I'm finished with you!"

Again, the dwarf leapt forward, but stumbled on her injured leg. Rhianna dodged out of the way, but her injury was giving her trouble, as well. She couldn't lift her arm properly, so she held the dagger at her side, and focused on the longsword in her good hand. She struck out, but Jarvia blocked the blow, pushing back and nearly knocking Rhianna off her feet. As the dwarf raised her arm for another strike, Dane came from the side and leapt at her, his teeth aimed for her throat.

Jarvia blocked his attack, and Dane's teeth sunk into her upper arm, rather than her neck, but she was knocked backward a couple of steps. Rhianna moved quickly, dropping to one knee, and swinging her leg to knock the dwarf's feet out from under her. When Jarvia landed hard on her back, Rhianna leapt on top of her and slit the woman's throat with a single, smooth sweep of her dagger.

The dwarf went still.

Without even pausing for breath, Rhianna got back to her feet. A glance around the room told her the battle was nearly over. Only one guard still stood, and he was flanked by Sten and Zevran. Zevran feinted, causing the dwarf to leap backwards. Sten took advantage of the opportunity to cleave downward with his bastard sword. The dwarf's clavicle snapped with a loud crack, and he fell to the ground.

So much for Jarvia and her carta.

Rhianna glanced around the room. Maker, they'd killed a lot of people this night. Not just in this room, but all the way through the base. She wasn't sure how many; at least a score, maybe two. Jarvia's death had been warranted, but the others? Most of them were swords for hire, or casteless dwarves who probably hadn't much of a choice in joining. Like Faren.

But there was no point in dwelling on that now. What was done, was done, and her arm had begun to ache, along with various other cuts and bruises she'd sustained during the course of the evening.

"Faren?"

The dwarf trotted over to Rhianna's side. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you know a quick way out of here? Back into the Commons?"

The last thing she wanted to do was return through what seemed like miles and miles of horrible, cramped tunnels.

"Sure," he replied. "We can be back in the Commons in less than five minutes. There's a door in the next room that will take us out through one of the shops."

A weight lifted off her shoulders at those words. Thank the Maker. No more tunnels.

"Lead the way."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my reviewers, KatDancer, YarnandTea, and Vicky79.
> 
>  
> 
> Keep an eye out this next week for a new chapter in "Glimpses into the Darkness." I think it will answer some questions that might still linger from earlier chapters in this story.


	42. Something so harmless as the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Bhelen is not the only one with a favor to ask of Rhianna.

**20 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Orzammar** _ ****  


‹›‹O›‹›

"Well, you've simply outdone yourself."

When Rhianna, Leliana and Zevran arrived at the Royal Palace, Bhelen waved them in to his apartment with an expansive smile. "Everyone's talking about the way you went through Dust Town and slaughtered the carta like genlocks." He turned to a strikingly pretty dwarven woman, with whom he had been playing a game of cards. "Rica, if you could give us a few minutes alone, please?"

"Of course." She smiled at the visitors, bowed, and left the room.

"I must say," he continued, "I didn't expect you to have quite this much success, and in such a short time."

"I didn't expect it, either," Rhianna replied, "But when we were able to gain access to the carta's base, there was no reason not to continue through until we found Jarvia. And once we found her . . . well, I did try and take her into custody, but she wasn't particularly cooperative, so we did what we had to do. At any rate, you shouldn't have to worry about the carta for a while. I suspect it will take some time for them to recover from losing their leader and half of their members."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right about that. You've done the city a great service. The deshyrs will be pleased."

"That's what you need to take the throne, yes? The support of the deshyrs? So you'll be able to provide the Grey Wardens with the assistance we need?"

"As I have promised, you will have as many troops as you need. Although . . . " He paused. "I'm afraid I still cannot venture a guess as to when that will happen."

"Jarvia's defeat," Zevran said, "is not enough to guarantee you the throne?"

"I'm afraid not." Bhelen shook his head slowly. "Of course, I had hoped this would be enough to tip the balance, but my ears and eyes in the city tell me that, even with the carta neutralized, Harrowmont still holds great loyalty."

Maker's balls. Did the prince intend to ask another favor?

"And just what," Rhianna began, "do you think it will take to break them of this . . . loyalty?"

The hint of a smile played across his lips. "It pleases me to see how quickly you have come to understand the situation." He paused. "We need something more . . . dramatic. Something that will grab – and hold - their attention. Something the deshyrs will not be able to ignore."

He did intend to ask another favor. "What do you have in mind?"

"What do you know of the Paragon Branka?"

"Branka?" Rhianna shrugged. "Not much. Just that she was a smith and an inventor, and two years ago she left Orzammar, taking her entire house with her, to search for the Anvil of the Void. She hasn't been seen or heard from since."

Bhelen chuckled. "Your ability to gather information and get straight to the bottom of things continues to impress me. Yes, Branka left Orzammar. The only paragon in four generations, and she turned her back on her responsibilities here. As you have probably gathered, a paragon is basically a living ancestor. And if, by chance, Branka is still alive, were she to return now, her vote would outweigh the entire Assembly. Anyone with her support could take the throne unchallenged. Of course, if she had managed to actually find the Anvil . . . well, that would make things just that much more interesting."

"You think there is a chance this woman is still alive," Leliana asked. "The man who told us about her yesterday seemed to think it was certain she was dead."

"Branka left Orzammar with ample supplies, and her entire house. Three hundred people, all dedicated to her protection. Plenty of ruins are still intact. No reason to think they couldn't have lasted out there all this time. And I have to assume Harrowmont is looking for her as well. As I said,  _anyone_  with her support could take the throne. It's too risky to assume she's dead, only to have Harrowmont take credit for finding her."

"Let me guess," Rhianna said. "You want us to go into the Deep Roads and look for her."

"Branka's support would guarantee me the throne, which would in turn guarantee my ability to give the Grey Wardens the full support of Orzammar's military forces."

At least he was straightforward about what he wanted.

"How well did you know her before she left," Rhianna asked. "Are you certain she'll support your bid for the throne if she's found?"

"That's a fair question. To be honest, I don't know her at all, not personally. Two years ago, when she left, I was still considered a child, not one to socialize with someone as exalted as a Paragon. And Branka has never been known for her . . . congeniality, so I never made any attempt to speak with her." He caught Rhianna's gaze. "I had hoped that you would use your legendary charm to persuade her that Orzammar's rightful king should take the throne. Of course . . ." He looked away. "If the Deep Roads have . . . addled her wits, it might be best she not return before the kingship is decided."

"Are you suggesting we should kill her if she does not agree to give you her support?" Zevran asked.

"No." There was no hesitation in Bhelen's response. "She is a paragon, and it is my duty to protect her. All I am saying is that, if she is indeed content to remain in the Deep Roads, rather than embroil herself in politics, we must respect her decision, and not try and force her to do otherwise."

"Fair enough," the elf replied.

This assumption of Bhelen's - that he could send her off on one errand after another - was rather annoying, but something had sparked her curiosity.

"What can you tell me about this artifact she sought? The Anvil of the Void?"

"The Anvil? It revolutionized dwarven society. It allowed for the creation of golems - huge men of stone that were nearly indestructible and almost unbeatable in combat."

"Then they are real? Golems, I mean?"

"Oh yes, they're real. I can't tell you what I'd give for an army of the things. We could clear the Deep Roads of darkspawn forever, if the Anvil of the Void could be found. And I can't help but wonder – perhaps the reason Branka never returned to Orzammar is that she found the anvil, and is trying to figure out how to put it to use again."

An army of golems to fight the darkspawn.

The possibility of that alone might be worth the effort of this expedition. And if it helped end the struggle over the succession, so much the better.

"Do you have any idea where I might find her?" Rhianna asked.

"My men were able to trace her path as far as Caridin's Cross, an ancient crossroad that lies many miles deep into the tunnels. It was once a main thoroughfare, but, like so much of the dwarven lands, was lost to the darkspawn four centuries ago. Until Branka, no one had stepped foot there in generations. Now, however, with the creatures moving up to the surface during your Blight, those roads are as clear as they've been in hundreds of years. You should be able to get to Caridin's Cross with little difficulty, and from there you can get anywhere in the old empire. Including Ortan Thaig. That was Caridin's birthplace; perhaps that is where Branka would have started her search for the anvil."

"All right," she agreed. "We'll do this. My people can be ready to leave tomorrow. I presume you'll provide us with the equipment and supplies we'll need for the journey?"

He didn't try to hide the wide smile that burst across his face. "Absolutely. I will have everything you need delivered to the Grey Warden compound as soon as possible. In the meantime, you might want to visit the Shaperate, if you've not already done so."

"The Shaperate?"

"Yes, the Shaper of Memories. It's where all history and knowledge about dwarven society is maintained. There, you will find information going back a thousand ages. Perhaps having a read through the history of the Anvil will give you some ideas about where it might be found." He stood. "Now, if you'll forgive me, I have other duties to which I must attend, but first . . ." He crossed the room and reached inside one of the drawers in his desk. "There is one thing I would prefer to give you now, rather than have it sent with the other supplies." He handed Rhianna a cylinder of stone. It was small - about the size of a dagger's handle, and at one end, the stone was carved away to form a seven-pointed star.

"This is a key that should open the seal to any barrier you find on your travels. In some places, my ancestors were forced to put up doors to prevent the darkspawn from swarming wherever they liked. Door were placed at all entrances to the surface, as well. This key will allow you to open any such doors you may find. I don't know if you will have cause to use it, but it seems wise to send it with you, just in case."

"Thank you. I'll keep it safe."

"Lady Cousland. " He rested a hand on her arm. "I do appreciate all the effort you are willing to put forward to assist me. I know this is a great deal to ask, but I assure you, it will pay off in the long run, for both of us. Once I have taken the throne, we will work together to put an end to the darkspawn. In the meantime, while you search for Branka, I will delay the vote until you return. That shouldn't be difficult. So far, the deshyrs have shown no sign of wanting to cooperate with one another."

"We'll do our best to find Branka," Rhianna replied. "And, with any luck, the Anvil of the Void, as well."

After bidding Bhelen goodbye, Rhianna, Leliana and Zevran made their way back through the palace. As they passed through a long hallway, a woman stepped out of a doorway and waved a hand to get their attention.

"Excuse me? Warden?" It was the red-haired woman who had been playing cards with Bhelen. "Could I trouble you for a moment of your time?"

"Of course. What do you need?"

"I have . . . well, there's something I wanted to ask you. I understand that you and your friends killed Jarvia last night, is that true?"

"Yes, we did."

"I also heard that you might have brought someone out of the carta's base with you. A man called Faren?"

"Perhaps." Rhianna's eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"Is it true then?" She clapped her hands together as a wide smile burst across her face. "He's really alive?" She laughed. "I'm sorry. Forgive, me. I should explain. My name is Rica, and Faren is my brother. When he disappeared three months ago, I . . . well, I thought for certain that he was dead. But this morning, I heard that a shopkeeper's daughter had seen a dwarf matching my brother's description come out of the carta's base with you last night."

Faren's sister? Yes, there was something reminiscent of the man in this woman's eyes.

"It's true. We found Faren last night, and brought him out with us. He hadn't been eating properly for the past few months, but other than that, is no worse for wear."

"Thank the Ancestors! I was afraid to let myself believe it was true, for fear of the disappointment if it wasn't. But he's alive. Oh, thank the Ancestors, he's alive!" Her expression was one of sheer joy.

Well, of course it would be. To learn a beloved brother had returned home safe? Rhianna's reaction would be the same.  _Will_  be the same, once Fergus is home, safe and sound.

Rica bit her bottom lip. "Could I . . . would it be possible for me to come and see him? Or at least send a message so he knows to come and see me?"

"Of course. I'm sure he'll want to see you. We invited him to stay at the Grey Warden compound for the time being. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes, of course. Although . . . perhaps, if you're returning there now, I could accompany you?"

"I don't see why not."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

Rhianna liked this woman already, if for no other reason than a shared devotion to their brothers.

‹›‹O›‹›

"Faren?" She sounded almost doubtful, as though she feared this were some sort of trick and not her brother after all.

In the common room of the Warden compound, the dwarf's head snapped up from his chess game with Sten.

"Rica?"

"Oh, Faren! It's you! It really is you!"

"Rica!" He stood so quickly he bumped the table, and all the chess pieces toppled over. "Rica! How did you know I was here?" He hurried across the room, picked up her up off the ground, and spun her around.

"Careful, careful!" She laughed when he'd set her back on her feet, and gently pushed him away. With a hand on her belly she added, "It's not just me anymore. There's two of us now."

"By the Ancestors! You're . . . with child? The child of your benefactor?"

"Yes, I am. But more important, you're alive. I'd nearly given up hope."

"So did I. Believe me, so did I. But I  _am_  alive. And out of that damned carta prison." Faren grasped his sister by the shoulders. "You look well, sister. More beautiful than ever!"

"Thank you." She rested her own hands on his shoulders. "And now, with this child on the way, we'll be set for the rest of our lives."

"If it's a boy," Faren amended.

"No. The baby's father has promised that even I give birth to a girl, he's not going to send me away. He said we'll just keep trying until we have a son, and in the meantime – and afterwards, of course - we'll all live together . . . in the Royal Palace, if things work out the way he hopes they will."

"The Royal Palace?" Faren's eyes grew wide. "Your benefactor. Who is he?"

"Prince Bhelen." A slight blush rose up on her cheeks. "But he won't be merely the prince for long, Ancestors willing. Soon he'll be the king." She let out a sigh. "Can you imagine? Me? The consort to the king. And it's not just . . . well, he cares for me. I know he does. And I care for him, too." Rica returned a hand to her belly. "Regardless of tradition, this child will be welcomed into the world, boy or girl. Bhelen has promised, and I believe him."

"That would be . . . unprecedented," Faren said. "But you won't hear me complain, if it's true."

"Speaking of the prince," Rhianna said, "he's asked us to go on a bit of an . . . expedition for him. And I've agreed. We'll be going into the Deep Roads to search for the Paragon Branka, as well as an artifact she was seeking."

"The Anvil of the Void?" Daveth asked. "The one that drunken dwarf was asking us about?"

"Exactly."

"We are to go on yet another errand for this would-be king?" Morrigan arched a brow.

"Yes," Rhianna said. "But not just for his benefit. I'm interested in the anvil for my own sake. Golems would be incredibly useful in fighting the darkspawn.

"I suppose that is true enough." Morrigan shuddered. "But I do not relish the thought of journeying still deeper into the earth."

"I," Sten began, "will be pleased to be doing something useful. For a change. When do we leave?"

"First thing in the morning," Rhianna replied. "As soon as Prince Bhelen sends the supplies we'll need." Rhianna turned to Faren. "What about you, Faren? Your presence would be most welcome on this journey. None of us have anything resembling 'stone sense.' Not to mention we could use an additional sword."

"I don't know . . ." He glanced at Rica. "Maybe I should stay here, with my sister. I was down in that cell for a very long time."

"No," Rica said. "You should go with them. If Branka can be found, and agrees to support Bhelen, he'll be guaranteed the throne. And anything that helps Bhelen, improves the fortunes of our family, as well. We can't risk Harrowmont becoming king. If that happens, I have no doubt that Bhelen will be considered a threat, and won't be allowed to live. That is the way of our people, after all. And without Bhelen . . ."

Rica didn't have to finish that sentence. If her benefactor was killed, it was back to Dust Town for her and her family, including the unborn child in her belly. Assuming any of them survived that long.

A crease formed across Faren's brow. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. You've always been a good brother, always tried to protect me. And the best way you can do that now is to go with the Grey Wardens. If you can find Branka, or the Anvil, you will be doing a great service not only to our family, but also to Orzammar." She paused. "I was ready to kill you when I heard what you did at the Proving, but right now, it looks like everything is going to work out for the best."

"All right, then," the dwarf said. He turned to Rhianna. "I'll come with you, Ancestors help me. And if the paragon is still alive, we'll find her."

‹›‹O›‹›

It was still early in the day and, since it would take all of five minutes to pack her belongings in the morning, there were no real preparations to make for their journey into the Deep Roads. So, she decided to visit the Shaper of Memories, as Bhelen had suggested. Not only to learn what she could about the Anvil, but to do some research on past blights, as well. Perhaps there would be something in this dwarven library that would help her end this one.

She brought Jowan with her - his face had lit up at the suggestion - and together, they left the Warden compound, and crossed the road to the cavernous building that housed the Orzammar Shaperate. Inside, bookshelves lined the walls, and researchers scurried back and forth carrying stacks of tomes, some of which looked more ancient than any Rhianna had seen before.

"This place is  _marvelous,_ " Jowan breathed. "So many books. I could spend ten lifetimes here and not even make a dent in reading all of them!"

"Welcome, Grey Wardens!" A white-bearded man approached. "I am Czibor, the Shaper of Memories. The occasion of your visit to Orzammar has already been entered into the Memories. Is there something in particular you seek today?"

"Yes," Rhianna said. "I'd like to see any history you have of the Anvil of the Void, and of Paragon Branka. And if there's anything relating to darkspawn, and the previous blights, I'd very much like to see that, as well."

"Heh," he chuckled. "You will be here quite a while if you'd like to see all our references on those topics, but you should be able to make a start today, at any rate. Go ahead and make yourselves at home, and I will have one of our scholars help you."

Rhianna and Jowan settled themselves at a table near the back of the building, and within minutes, three huge piles of books had been brought over for their perusal.

The first book she picked up was about Caridin. It was called, "Stone Halls of the Dwarves," and was written by a Brother Ferdinand Genitivi.

"Jowan, look at this. Isn't Genitivi the name of the scholar Lady Isolde wants us to find in Denerim? The man who's studying the Urn of Sacred Ashes?"

"Yes, that is the name. Let me have a look." He glanced at the title page, and turned to the first chapter. "Hmnh. This appears to have been written fairly recently. I'll bet it is the same man."

"Small world," Rhianna mused aloud.

"It is, isn't it?"

The book was written in a style that was conversational and almost overly familiar, addressing the reader as "my friend," and offering a great many opinions along with the facts. Interestingly enough, Genitivi had actually met Paragon Branka, on a visit to Orzammar some years ago, and had this to say about her:

_"This ill-tempered woman was draped in the finest clothing and jewelry, and was obviously revered even above the highest nobles - perhaps above even the king - yet she seemed to enjoy none of it. The burden of being a living legend is great, it appears."_

Ill-tempered? Were that true, it was unlikely that two years in the Deep Roads would have done anything to improve her attitude. Something to keep in mind, if they actually did manage to find her.

As for Caridin, according to Genitivi, the paragon vanished in the eleventh year of the reign of King Valtor - whenever that might have been - and the entire process for golem manufacture was lost. All expeditions sent into the Deep Roads to search for him were pushed back by darkspawn until finally, in the second year of the reign of Queen Getha, one hundred and twenty-six golems were sent to recover the paragon.

None of them ever returned.

After this, the Shaper of Golems refused to support any further attempt to find Caridin, and the paragon was officially declared dead. An all-golem regiment was never again allowed to enter the Deep Roads.

Maker. It was said that a golem was worth a dozen dwarves in battle, so one hundred and twenty-six of them would have been a massive force. And they had all just disappeared?

She looked up a timeline of the history of Orzammar to discover that Caridin had created the golems in -255 Ancient. More than two thousand years ago, around the time the Chasind broke away from the Alamarri up on the surface, if Rhianna remembered her history correctly. Branka was searching for an artifact that had been lost for two thousand years? What were the chances that she had found it? Probably, slim to none.

If Branka's chances had been slim, what hope did Rhianna and her companions have?

That, however, was a line of thought not worth following, considering she'd already promised to go looking.

Rhianna continued to search through the books, but found nothing new about Caridin or Branka, so she turned to the stack that contained information about darkspawn and the Grey Wardens. She grabbed one of the volumes at random and was surprised to discover that "Tales of the Destruction of Thedas" was also written by Brother Genitivi.

The man had researched the darkspawn? Perhaps it would be worth the time to track him down, after all.

She flipped to the chapter titled "The First Blight." Genitivi shared the story Rhianna had heard before: Tevinter magisters had entered the Golden City, and their presence corrupted it so much that the darkspawn were created. The so-called 'Second Sin:'

_The Second Sin unleashed the bane of all life upon Thedas. The darkspawn are more virulent than the worst plague, a heartless force of nature that came into our world like an ill wind. We know from accounts of later blights (as these darkspawn invasions came to be called - never has a more appropriate name existed) that the darkspawn spread disease and famine wherever they tread. The earth itself is corrupted by their presence, the sky roiling with angry black clouds. I do not exaggerate, my friends, when I say that a mass gathering of darkspawn is an omen of dread cataclysm._

_It is said that those cursed magisters who became the first darkspawn scratched at the very earth to find solace in the darkness of the dwarven Deep Roads, and there in the shadows they multiplied. Whether by intelligent design or by some last vestige of worship in their minds, they attempted to locate the Old Gods they have once served. They found what they sought: Dumat, first among the Old Gods, once known as the Dragon of Silence before the Maker imprisoned him and all his brethren beneath the earth for the First Sin: usurping the Maker's place in mankind's heart._

_The slumbering dragon awoke, freed from the Maker's prison by his twisted followers, and became corrupted himself. Dumat was transformed into the first archdemon, his great and terrible power given will by a rotting, unholy mind. With the darkspawn horde following, Dumat rose and took wing in the skies once again, bringing ruin to the world the Maker had created. The Old God had become the eye of a dark storm that would ravage the entire world._

The information about the Old Gods was interesting, but the thing that most caught Rhianna's attention was this: the Old Gods had been banished by the Maker for being more popular then He was? As if turning away from mankind wasn't bad enough, this was ridiculous. The Maker hardly seemed like a god at all, but more like a spoiled child, throwing temper tantrums when He didn't get His way. Was He at all worthy of being worshipped?

Probably not. He certainly hadn't done anything helpful recently in Ferelden, as far as Rhianna could tell. What use was there for a god who turned away from His children? That was worse than having no god at all.

Beside the story of their creation, however, Genitivi's book contained no new information about the darkspawn, or how to fight them. So, Rhianna set that book aside, and picked up another. "Ferelden: Folkore and History" was written by a Chantry sister called Petrine. The section on the blights began with a quote from the Chant of Light:

 _In Darkness eternal they searched,_  
 _For those who had goaded them on._  
 _Until at last they found their prize,_  
 _Their god, their betrayer._  
 _The sleeping dragon Dumat._  
 _Their taint twisted even the false-god, and the whisperer_  
 _Awoke at last, in pain and horror, and led_  
 _Them to wreak havoc upon all the nations of the world._  
 _The first Blight._

_Threnodies 8:7_

Again, Rhianna read through the story about the Tevinter Magisters and their Second Sin, and, once again, beyond this legend of how they came to be, there was little information about the darkspawn themselves.

There were so many things she wanted to know. How do they reproduce? What do they eat, and how do they survive underground? Do they make their own weapons and armor, or are they stolen from somewhere? What do they do in between blights?

So many questions, and answers for none of them.

Her history of the Fourth Blight was somewhat more enlightening. This blight occurred during the Age of Towers, four hundred years ago, and began in Tevinter before spreading south into Orlais and east into the Free Marches. Ferelden was mostly spared - they suffered only a few incursions of darkspawn, and the tainting of the land stopped well beyond our borders. Perhaps this was why Fereldans were apt to dismiss the darkspawn threat: we had never suffered under a blight as dramatically as had countries in the north.

There was also a chapter about the Old Gods themselves. Seven gods had been revered by the Imperium: Dumat, Zazikel, Toth, Andoral, Razikale, Lusacan and Urthemiel. What was it Duncan said? That the archdemon responsible for this current blight was Urthemiel. Sister Petrine had no more to say about Urthemiel, but in a book titled, "The Old Gods Rise Again _"_  by Sister Mary, Chantry scholar, Urthemiel was described in more detail:

 _Urthemiel_ _, the_ _Dragon of Beauty_ _, was revered as the god of beauty in the Tevinter Imperium. Among the ancient Tevinter people, Urthemiel was the fairest and most graceful of the Old Gods, worshipped by musicians, artists and poets._

 _The Feast of Urthemiel, called "Urthalis" was an annual celebration that lasted a full twelve days during the month of Pluitanis. Plays and entire symphonies were written and performed in his honor, and it was considered the grandest celebration of the year._ _Today, the holiday at that time of year is known as Wintersend, and is dedicated to the Maker. It is believed that Urthemiel sired a daughter, Urzara, who went on a rampage in the Free Marches, and was killed in the Storm Age._

The god of beauty? A god who had once inspired music and art was now driven by some murderous urge to destroy everything in his path.

How unutterably sad.

"Rhianna?" Jowan said, jarring her from her thoughts. "Have a listen to this. It's a letter from Paragon Aeducan to his wife, and was apparently written at the beginning of the First Blight. When the first archdemon, Dumat, was leading the horde to the surface for the first time."

Rhianna set down Sister Mary's book.

 _"For weeks,"_ he began, " _their numbers appeared to be dwindling. There was talk that perhaps we were getting close to wiping them out. We could not have been more wrong. For today we came upon the body of their main force. I cannot give words to it, Anika. I have never before seen so much death in one place. There were darkspawn beyond counting, and at the heart of the throng, a great beast, as tall as the palace of Orzammar, with breath of fire. A Paragon of darkspawn, perhaps, for they seemed to pay it deference. They were leaving. Marching toward the mine shafts which lead to the surface. But I knew when I beheld them that once they have devoured what lies above us, they will be back."_

Darkspawn beyond counting? That sounded uncomfortably familiar, like the dreams that plagued her sleep most nights. And the archdemon, who flapped his wings and bellowed out words in a language Rhianna couldn't quite understand.

"Is that where we're going?" Jowan's voice shook slightly. "Down into the Deep Roads, where the darkspawn horde and the archdemon are waiting?"

Oh, that's right. Jowan hadn't seen darkspawn yet, or the archdemon. Not even in his dreams.

"Yes. That's where we're going."

"Are you sure that's . . . well, is it really a good idea? Didn't you say something about the darkspawn being able to sense Grey Wardens? Won't they be drawn to our party, like moths to a flame?"

He wasn't wrong, but she could hardly admit that now.

"The darkspawn can sense Alistair, Daveth and I, yes. But we can sense them, too, and avoid places where there are too many darkspawn for us to fight. It'll be fine. We'll be fine."

"You're a good liar." The hint of a smile crept across his lips. "Very convincing, when you want to be. But this time, it's pretty obvious you're not telling me the truth. I don't suppose it matters, does it? We've got to do this, so there's no point in worrying about all the things that could go wrong."

"Something like that," she admitted. "I do believe we'll be fine, though. I wouldn't agree to go if I thought none of us would return."

"Fair enough."

Rhianna arched her back to relieve some of the tension that had settled in her neck and shoulders from bending over the texts. "I think I'm done reading for today. Are you ready to go back?"

"Actually, if you don't mind, I think I'll stay. I'm sort of in my element here, if you know what I mean, and there are a few more books that looked promising. I can report back to you if I find anything interesting." He grinned. "It's not like I'm going to get lost on the way back, after all."

"All right." She smiled. "Stay as long as you like. I'll see you back at the compound."

Rhianna left the Shaperate, and stepped back into the main street of the Diamond Quarter. Before she'd made her way down the front steps, a man jumped up from where he'd been sitting on a bench nearby, and came toward her.

Alistair. His cheeks were flushed, and he seemed almost out of breath. Had he been waiting for her?

"Hello, Rhianna. I . . . um . . . you were in there a long time."

So, he had been waiting.

"There were a lot of books to get through. I did learn some interesting things, though. About darkspawn, and the blights, and Caridin. Jowan's still in there, studying away."

"Good." Alistair seemed distracted, as though he hadn't really heard what she'd just said. "That's good." He looked down at the ground. "Look . . . I just . . . well, I wanted to apologize for the other day. For what I said, about you being wrong, and a bad sport."

Rhianna blinked, not sure how to respond.

"You weren't being a bad sport," he continued. "I know that. And I . . . well, I suspect I was a bit of arse about things. No matter how I feel about him, you were friends with Loghain once upon a time, so it can't have felt good to find out that he sent someone to kill you." He finally met her gaze. "Anyway, I'm sorry. For being an arse."

"Oh." She paused. "Um . . . apology accepted. Thank you. And . . . well, I'm sorry, too. I guess I've been a bit . . . blind, when it comes to Loghain."

"That's understandable. Sometimes I forget that you knew him. That you knew . . . everyone. In your old life. Loghain, King Cailan, the queen." He paused. "Do you miss it? Your old life, I mean?"

"Yes. Of course I miss it. Every single day." Her stomach felt hollow at the thought. "I miss my family, and I miss Highever. I miss my horse and the people I knew in the village, and my Nan, and, most of all, I miss . . ."

Her voice trailed off. Probably not a good idea to admit that she still missed Loghain, even after all that had happened.

"What? What do you miss most of all?"

"Nothing. Just . . ." She let out a slow breath. "I miss the feeling of knowing what tomorrow will bring. Of feeling safe, and loved. Of not being scared all the time."

All of that was true enough.

"Yeah. That makes sense. It's different for me, you know? When I joined the Wardens, I wasn't leaving any place I wanted to stay. I didn't have a life worth keeping, not like you did. So, for me, joining the Wardens was the best thing that could have happened. I need to try and remember that it's not like that for you." He looked back at the ground again, and kicked at a pebble with the toe of his boot. "Anyway, that's what I wanted to tell you. That I'm sorry."

He gave a weak smile, as though he wasn't sure how she'd respond.

"Thank you, Alistair. And, like I said, apology accepted."

"Good." Finally, a real smile. "Look, I'm starving. What do you say we go back to the compound and see if Helga and Helmut can scare up some food for us?"

‹›‹O›‹›

After dinner, as the companions relaxed in the common room, someone banged on the front door of the compound. Helmut hurried to answer it, and soon returned with the dwarf from Tapsters following in his wake. The one who had passed out drunk on the floor.

Oghren? Was that his name?

He strode over to Rhianna. "There you are. I knew I'd spoken to a Grey Warden. They tried to convince me it hadn't really happened, but I knew it wasn't just the drink."

"Who tried to convince you?"

"Bunch of nug humpers at the tavern. They think they're so clever. But . . . we  _did_  meet yesterday? Didn't we?"

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "We met in Tapsters yesterday. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Course there is! I didn't come all this way to compliment you on your hair." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I, uh . . . need to ask you a favor."

"You need a favor?" Rhianna shrugged. "Of course. Why not? Everyone else does."

"Great!" He didn't seem to have noticed the sarcasm in her voice. Possibly because he was drunk, judging by the way he listed back and forth, and the smell of drink on his breath. "Mostly, what people say about me is how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong." He shrugged. "To be honest, that's mostly true, but the part they forget to add is how I'm the only one still trying to save our paragon."

"That's not surprising. She is your wife, after all."

"Exactly. And I've heard that you're going down into the Deep Roads, looking for her. It that true?"

"Yes."

"Well, it would be pretty sodding helpful to know what she went down there to find, wouldn't it? And  _I'm_  the only one who knows what that is."

"You mean the Anvil of the Void?"

"Huh?" His hands moved to his hips. "How'd you know that? No one knows about that. Branka wanted it to be a secret."

"Everyone in the tavern seemed to know exactly what Branka had been looking for," Zevran said. "So, apparently, someone let the cat out of the bag." He paused. "To be honest, I suspect it was you. Perhaps on one of the rare occasions when you were inebriated."

"Sod it all!"Oghren stomped a foot. "Well, that's not the important part, all right? Even if you do know what she was looking for, no one else knew where she was going. Now, I know Bhelen's sent scouts out to look for it, but whatever they've found, it isn't good enough, or he wouldn't be sending you. And if you try to do this on your own . . . good sodding luck. The only way you'll have a hope of finding Branka is for us to pool our knowledge. Work together."

Rhianna leaned forward. "Are you saying you know where she went?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"But if you know where she went," Daveth began, "why didn't you go after when she left?"

"Well, I didn't know she wouldn't be coming back, did I? And now I can't just go traipsing off into the Deep Roads by myself. So, that's why I'm coming with you. I'll tell you where to go, and you'll help me find her. We both get what we want."

"You want to come with us?" Alistair asked.

"Isn't that what I just said?"

Rhianna sat back in her chair. "And you know where to find her?"

"You bet your sweet arse I do."

"All right. So where did she go?"

"A lost thaig no one's seen in centuries, where the Anvil was built. Ortan Thaig. That was where Caridin was born, and it was his favorite place; he liked it even better than the thaig they gave him when he was made Paragon. So, Branka dug up some maps of the ancient empire, and planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. Not that I'm sure the Anvil will be there – it could have been moved or destroyed - but no one knows that, now, do they? In any case, Ortan Thaig is the place to start looking. "

"Ortan Thaig?" That name was familiar, but why?

"Yes. Lost to the darkspawn centuries ago. No one's set foot in it for generations."

"Ortan Thaig," she repeated.

Maker. She remembered where she'd heard the name before.

"No dwarf has set foot there, perhaps, but I do know someone who's been to Ortan Thaig."

Oghren barked with laughter. "You expect me to believe that? A surfacer, and you know someone who went to Ortan Thaig?"

"Yes, I do. Thirty years ago, Maric Theirin and Loghain Mac Tir traveled through that thaig on their way to Gwaren." She turned to Alistair. "Duncan was there once, as well. About ten years after Maric's first visit, he returned with Grey Wardens. They were looking for some Orlesian Warden in the Deep Roads."

"Well, I'll be damned," Oghren said. "I hope this means you know where to find it."

"Not exactly," Rhianna admitted. "Not from Orzammar, anyway. Both times Maraic went through the thaig, he entered the Deep Roads from an entrance in the Coastlands of Ferelden. I suppose that means it's likely to be in that direction - east from here - but I can't be certain." She paused. "But why does it matter? I thought you said you knew where to find her."

"I do know  _where_  to find her. I . . . well . . . I just don't know how to get there. Just that Branka thought the place was past Caridin's Cross."

"I can get us that far," Rhianna said. "Bhelen's scouts did map the way to Caridin's Cross."

"By the ancestors!" Oghren exclaimed. "I can't believe Bhelen actually tracked that place down. If Branka was there - which I'm sure she was - we'll be able to pick up her trail. I'm starting to think we just might have a chance."

"But what if . . ." Alistair began. "What if . . . Branka and everyone else . . . died?"

Oghren gave him a scowl. "Well, aren't you a sodding bright spot? If everyone's dead, then we'll find evidence of it. She had three hundred people with her. That would be a major battle, no matter how you look at it. Three hundred dwarves don't just fade away." He paused. "But she's not dead. I'd know if she were dead. And I mean to get her back. So," he turned back to Rhianna, "will you take me with you, or are you just going to stumble around in the darkness down there and get so lost you'll never make it back up to the surface?"

Rhianna held his gaze. "Are you going to be able to stay sober long enough to be of some use?"

"Drunk, sober? What does it matter? It's the Deep Roads, and I'm not some sodding elf maiden who sits around and waits for a passing hero to solve my problems. I'm a bloody warrior! If we see darkspawn, I'll kill 'em, and I'll track Branka, wherever she may have gone. Branka was a brilliant girl, but half the time she'd add two and two and make it fifty. You want to find her, you need someone who knows how she thinks. Outside of that, what difference does it make? Branka's not going to sodding find herself, and out in the Deep Roads, I'm your man."

She studied his face. Another sword arm couldn't hurt, and he did know Branka. He'd have the best chance of guessing where she might have gone, if it came to that.

"All right. If you want to come along, I don't have a problem with that. As long as you behave yourself, and stay . . . reasonably sober."

"Well, now you're talking! Branka, here I come!"

‹›‹O›‹›

Alone, at last, in the bedroom Rhianna had claimed for herself. Hopefully, she'd be able to sleep - without too many horrible dreams - so she could begin this journey somewhat well rested.

She slipped into the nightgown she'd bought for herself in Oswin. It was delightful to wear something other than her armor for a change, especially such soft fabric right against her skin. When she turned down the blankets, Dane jumped up and lay right where Rhianna had intended to sleep.

"Dane! That's my spot."

He blinked at her slowly, as he stretched himself out on the bed.

Clearly, he had no intention of moving.

"Oh, fine. I'll sleep on the other side. You're horrible, did you know that?"

He huffed in agreement, and wagged his stump of a tail.

She didn't care which side of the bed she slept in, not really. Just the fact that she was sleeping in a bed - for the third night in a row - seemed like the height of luxury.

It was not so very long ago she'd slept in a comfortable bed every night, and the memory of that stung. She'd taken so much for granted back in Highever. Parents and a brother who loved her, all the comforts money could buy. She'd never lacked for any material thing she truly wanted, and was able to do whatever she liked with most of her time. And she'd felt loved. By her family. By Loghain.

Now, all of it was gone. She'd lost everything and everyone, except Dane.

He whined softly. Dane wasn't going anywhere; he would stay by her side, always.

She leaned down to place a kiss on his broad forehead.

It was stupid to think about these things, things that couldn't be changed. Better to appreciate the things she did have, and not dwell on the past. Tonight, she would sleep in a bed, and her belly was full. She was clean, and warm. She'd gotten new information that might help her find Branka, and Alistair had apologized.

And, of course, Dane was here. He loved her, and always would.

Five soft taps sounded on her door.

What? Who in the world could that be? Hadn't everyone else already gone to bed?

Perhaps it was Leliana, or Daveth, come to talk. That would be all right. She wasn't really sleepy yet, and wouldn't mind a few minutes of company. Especially Daveth's; he always knew what to say to cheer her.

Smiling at the thought, she pulled open the door. On the other side she found not Daveth, but Zevran.

Her smile faded, before she could catch herself.

He arched a brow. "Ah . . . you were expecting someone else, I take it?"

"No. Not that. I wasn't expecting anyone. I . . . I was . . . well, I'm just surprised anyone's still awake."

"Yes, of course. I apologize for the late hour of my visit. But there is something I wish to speak with you about. I wonder if perhaps I could come in. I should hate for your reputation to suffer," he winked, "should anyone see me loitering near your bedroom door."

Her smile returned. "Of course. Please, come in." She gestured for him to enter, and closed the door behind him. He'd changed out of his armor, and was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, untied at the collar, and a pair of brown trousers.

"What can I do for you," she asked.

"There are two things, actually. First, I wanted to say thank you. For not killing me the other day. I really do appreciate it." He paused. "After all, winter is coming, and this cold weather you have here in Ferelden is not good for my skin. I would have looked awful after just a few days of laying dead on that road."

"You're . . . welcome," she chuckled. "At least there will be no worries about Fereldan winters where we're going tomorrow."

"Hah! This is true. Although I must admit that I do not relish the thought of being quite so far under the ground as it seems we will be going. And . . . if I am not mistaken, you are not fond of the idea, either?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Last night, you sped up every time we entered one of the tunnels. As though you wanted to get through as quickly as possible. Personally, I was glad of it. It is difficult for me to believe that any sort of person was meant to live beneath the earth in this way."

"Don't let the dwarves hear you say that . . . but yes, I agree. Completely." She shuddered. "I hate being underground, especially in tight spaces. Nor am I fond of the dark."

"Is that so?" Zevran tilted his head to one side. "Now that does come as a surprise."

"A surprise? Why?"

"I would not expect a woman like you to be afraid of something so harmless as the dark."

"A woman like me?"

"I have yet to see you flinch at anyone who threatened you. So the idea that you would be afraid of some faceless thing that might or might not lurk in the darkness seems a bit out of character."

"Well, that's the thing. I'm not afraid of what might lurk in the dark. It really is just the dark itself."

"Really? And is there a reason for this?"

"Something happened to me when I was small. I was . . . locked away in complete darkness for the better part of a day. There was no light at all - none - and it was cold and damp, and I very nearly died, Ever since, I . . . well, I just don't like being in dark places."

Why was she telling him any of this? She didn't know this man at all.

Zevran seemed to take her admission in stride, thought. "Ah, yes. That makes sense."

"Does it? To be honest, it seems stupid to me. It happened when I was eight years old. You'd think that by now I'd be over it, wouldn't you?"

"Not necessarily." He gave a shrug of his shoulder. "Sometimes the things that happen to us when we are very young are the ones that remain most vividly in our memories. I don't think it is stupid that the darkness makes you uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, in fact. I think you are very brave for facing that fear time and time again."

Did he mean to flatter her? She studied his face, and no. It looked as though he was sincere.

That was . . . refreshing.

"Thank you." She shifted her weight to her other leg. "You said there were two things you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes," he chuckled. "That is true."

"All right. So, this the part where I discover that you lied about not intending to make a second attempt on my life?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "No, this is not that part,  _bella mia_. I swear to you, I am no longer in the business of attempting to kill you. Not only would it gain me little at this point, but the more I have seen you fight, the more I realize it would probably be impossible. No, the second thing is something else. Something I have decided I need to share with you. A confession, as it were."

"What is it?"

His eyes roamed across her face, and he took a step closer. Now, his gaze drifted downward, taking in the thin linen nightgown she wore. When he looked back up at her face, his eyes were hooded and dark.

"I believe you and I should make love."

Rhianna gave a small gasp, and her eyes grew wide. "We should . . . what?" She took a step backward, and bumped up against the wooden door behind her.

Zevran took another step. His face was mere inches from her own, and she could feel the heat from his body across the small distance between them.

"I believe you heard me the first time,  _carina_. I think you and I should make love. Preferably, tonight."

"Is that so?" She forced a weak laugh. "And just why, exactly, do you think this?"

"Because you are very beautiful." He reached up, and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "You are a very . . . sensual woman. I can tell this by the way you walk, by the way you speak. And especially by the way you fight. I must admit that I have felt . . . aroused by you since we crossed blades during the ambush. You are dangerous and exciting, and I desire you a great deal." He held her gaze as he put his hands on her shoulders. "You were built for lovemaking,  _bella mia_. As was I. Together, we would give one another a great deal of pleasure, of this I have no doubt. And I did promise to warm your bed, did I not? That was a promise I fully intend to keep."

"You did say that, yes, but I . . ." She swallowed. "I th-thought that was merely a joke."

"Oh no. It was a genuine offer, one that would be my pleasure to fulfill." His eyes narrowed as he held her gaze. "But most important . . . I think we should make love because you are lonely. It is easy to see this every time I look in your eyes. Someone hurt you, quite badly. This Loghain, I suspect. Which means he is a great fool. Something I am not."

Loghain? Why had he mentioned Loghain?

Before she could think of something to say, Zevran ran the tips of his fingers gently across her cheek. "Let me make love to you,  _carina_. I will make you forget whatever it was he did to you. I will make you forget your loneliness."

The smile slid from her lips and she closed her eyes as her heart pounded in her chest. He laid his hand against her cheek, and she pressed into that warmth. He leaned toward her, and she felt the heat of his breath on her face.

"Please,  _carina._ " Then, he pressed his lips to hers.

Before her mind could decide what to do, her body responded. Her hands slipped around his wait, and her lips moved against his. His kiss grew more insistent, and he pressed himself against her, so her back was up against the door. She could feel his arousal through the thin layers of their clothes.

Heat bloomed inside of her. She wanted him. Three days ago, this man had tried to kill her, but right now, Maker help her, she wanted him.

It would be so easy. So easy to let him lead her to the bed and lay her down, to remove the few bits of clothing they were wearing. Or perhaps he would take her right here against the door. One word, and he could rid himself of his trousers and be inside of her. His kisses felt so good; she was certain his claim that he would give her pleasure was no false boast. And oh, how she wanted to be held. To be kissed, and caressed. To be made love to.

She urged him closer.

Then, Teagan's face flashed into her mind. Teagan, and the kiss they had shared at the windmill. The look in his eyes when she'd walked away from Redcliffe. What was it she had told herself? She didn't want to lay with anyone, not unless there was some chance for a future together. It wasn't really sex that she wanted, for its own sake. The release would be delightful, but she wanted something more. Something . . . real. Something that might sustain her into the future.

She wanted what she'd once had with Loghain. Anything else would feel hollow, and empty, and leave her more bereft and lonely than before.

She didn't love Zevran. She barely knew him well enough to know if she even  _liked_  him. And she wasn't entirely sure he didn't intend to kill her.

Rhianna turned her head away, and slid her hands up between them. Zevran stepped back, and looked at her, a question in his eyes.

She struggled to catch her breath. "I'm sorry, Zevran. But I . . . can't. I can't do this."

He groaned softly. "That is . . . that is disappointing,  _bella_." He reached up and cupped her cheek in his palm once again. "May I ask why? I know it is not for lack of physical desire."

"I don't know you, Zevran. I don't know anything about you, not really. And . . ."

"You are in love with someone else. Even though this Loghain fellow hurt you, you still love him?"

"No," she lied. She didn't need yet another person to know about that particular episode of her life. "This isn't about Loghain." She held his gaze steadily. "There was never anything like that between us. I knew him for a long time, but only as a friend. Nothing more."

"Indeed?" He arched a brow. "Because when I met him, I had the feeling . . ." He shrugged. "I must have been wrong."

"You had what feeling when you met him?"

He inhaled, but then he shook his head, and let the breath out again.

"It is not important. If there was nothing between the two of you . . .?"

"There wasn't. I just . . . I don't know you, Zevran. It's not that I don't like the idea of being with you, but I . . . I just can't. Not now. Not like this."

He gave a slight bow. "I understand, and of course, I will respect your decision,  _carina_. I hope you are not angry with me for coming here tonight?"

"Angry? No, of course not."

"Good. And would you be offended should I try again, someday, if an opportune moment were to present itself? When, perhaps, you have had time to get to know me, and appreciate my many charms?"

She chuckled. "No, I don't suppose I'd be offended."

"Glad I am to hear it. And in the meantime, should you change your mind, remember that I am just down the hall. And I am here to serve. Your every whim." He kissed her briefly. "Good night,  _bella_. I wish you sweet dreams."

With that, he reached for the door handle, and let himself out.

She leaned back against the door while her heartbeat returned to normal.

Maker. Kissing him had felt so good, and now her body was awake with desire, but something stopped her from pulling open the door and calling for him to come back.

It seemed like a bad idea, to fall in bed with a man who had tried to kill her just three days ago. Especially while news of Loghain's betrayal still hurt so much. Chances are she'd have broken down and started crying half-way through, and then how would she have held together the lie she'd told - that she and Loghain hadn't been involved that way?

But Zevran was right: she was lonely. Desperately so. More now than ever before.

"Oh, Dane." She crossed to the bed, and lay down beside his slightly malodorous body. "Should I have let him stay?"

The hound shifted himself closer to his mistress.

_Of course not. The floor in here is far too hard for me to give up my place in the bed._

Maker.

_Besides, the elf didn't seem terribly discouraged. If you change your mind, you can always seek him out later._

In spite of Dane's partially selfish motives, he was probably right.

"I suppose so." She slid under the covers, and slung an arm across his warm body. "I just wish there was something I could to do feel . . . happy again."

Dane gave an encouraging whine, and turned his face up to lick the line of her jaw. Then, his head dropped onto the bed, and he fell back to sleep.

No doubt, he was right. She just needed to be patient.

She put her head on the pillow, and it wasn't long before she was asleep, as well.

‹O›

o

‹O›

o

‹O›

Last week, I posted a new chapter to Glimpses into the Darkness, a chapter that gives us someone else's perspective on the Battle of Ostagar. [You can read it here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/570837/chapters/4687122).

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta reader, Amanda Kitswell, and also to all my wonderful reviewers: Yarnandtea, Irish_Changeling, KatDancer, ImJudgingYou, and Vicky79.


	43. The very last man to refuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain travels into the Bannorn to meet with Bann Bronach.

__**23 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon**  
 _**The Bannorn** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

At Loghain's back, the Hafter River flowed silently past on its way north to the sea, while a chill wind drove away the warmth of the sun than shone overhead. Ser Cauthrien was at his side, along with eighty of Ferelden's finest soldiers, as they waited for Bann Bronach to arrive.

The past several weeks had been miserable in more ways than Loghain could previously have imagined possible. One by one, things kept going wrong, and none of Loghain's efforts to fix them seemed to be working.

The defeat at Ostagar. Cailan's death. Orlesians at the border. The treachery of the Grey Wardens. The mess Howe had created in Highever. Vaughan Kendells' disappearance. Rioting in the Alienage.

And of course, the darkspawn.

News from the south was increasingly bad; the darkspawn were making their way north and west at an alarming rate. Not only had Lothering fallen, but three days ago, Gallagher Wulff had ridden into Denerim with news that the arling of West Hills had been overrun by darkspawn, as well. The arl's two eldest sons had been killed, and his daughter carried off by Avvar barbarians who must have seen the opportunity, and taken it, while darkspawn created chaos in the region.

The entire southern half of the country was now at risk. The fall of West Hills put the southwest into peril – Sothmere, to the south of West Hills, and Redcliffe and Rainesfere to the north. Thus far, the darkspawn seemed not to have ventured to the southeast, but Gwaren, the Ruswold, and White River were all vunerable should the creatures turn in that direction. And of course, with Lothering gone, the way was open for the darkspawn to attack the Bannorn.

Something needed to be done, and soon.

Unfortunately, with the loss of Ostagar, they'd lost the advantage of being able to control a single point that would act as a bottleneck for the darkspawn, and keep them from coming out of the Korcari Wilds. Now, there was nothing to stop them from traveling in whatever direction they chose, and no way to predict what they would do next. So he would have to prepare to fight the darkspawn on more than one front. Perhaps simultaneously.

The strategy he'd devised was simple enough: the army would muster at Winter's Breath and South Reach, both. There was a defensible plateau near Winter's Breath that could be used as a staging ground, much as they'd done at Ostagar. And, if the darkspawn turned eastward, Leonas Bryland could be trusted to lead forces from South Reach. The darkspawn who had attacked West Hills would most likely be stopped by the Frostbacks before they got too much further west, although Redcliffe and Rainesfere were both vulnerable, should the horde head north. But they, along with Sothmere, would have to provide their own defense, as would the whole of the southeast, although at least they had the Brecilian Forest and benefit of terrain to protect them. There simply weren't enough soldiers for Loghain to send any south, not if he hoped to save the Bannorn. And, when push came to shove, the Bannorn was the first priority. If the country's arable lands were tainted, Ferelden would starve to death, darkspawn or no.

Loghain's own Gwaren troops would continue to protect the borders; Orlais remained as much of a threat as ever, and if they got wind of just how desperate Ferelden was for troops, that might be all the incentive Celene needed to invade. It certainly wouldn't be the first time Orlais had taken advantage of a Blight for its own political gain. While Gwaren defended the borders, the forces of the Bannorn, combined with Howe's troops from the north, would have to be enough to keep the darkspawn at bay.

Assuming the Bannorn would agree to provide any troops at all.

That, of course, was why he was here, shivering in a cold wind at the eastern edge of the Bannorn. Now, when Ferelden needed to unite against the darkspawn, the Maker-damned banns refused to cooperate. They'd gotten it into their heads that they had a choice. That sending the soldiers the queen - and King Cailan before her - had requested was somehow optional. The Bannorn had always dug in its heels over insignificant things, but this was as if a group of small children had staged a mass temper tantrum, in some infantile attempt to rebel against the authority of their parents. It didn't help that Wulff had chosen not to work with Loghain toward a solution that might save the rest of the south, but instead spent all his time in the Gnawed Noble, drinking heavily and ranting at anyone who would listen that Loghain should step down as regent. It seemed as though half the Landsmeet now balked at the idea of sending their soldiers to fight the darkspawn, a choice that was foolish and cowardly in equal measure.

In some ways, this was worse than the Rebellion. Back then, they started with nothing, so every inch of ground they gained felt like a victory. Now? No matter how hard he fought to keep Ferelden together, it kept crumbling away, right out from under him. The darkspawn were a problem, yes, but one that should have been manageable. Instead, every night, he went to bed dreading what new disaster the next day would bring, and every morning he woke feeling ill refreshed after a night of bad dreams. He needed to focus on the darkspawn, but it was difficult when so many other things demanded his attention.

At least the trouble with the banns would be at an end in just a few minutes. Bronach had stepped up as the 'spokesman' of the Bannorn, and had said the rest of the banns would follow his lead. So, Loghain would convince Bronach to see reason, and they would move forward, together, to defend Ferelden against the darkspawn. Once he had the support of the Bannorn, he could put everything else back into place, one thing at a time.

Except there was still no sign of Bann Bronach. Loghain glanced up at the sun; it had already passed its midway point in the sky. The bann was late, no doubt deliberately so.

Bastard.

"He's doing this to provoke you," Cauthrien murmured. "To show that he can't be forced to bow to your wishes."

"No doubt, you're right," Loghain replied. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It's the sort of petty foolishness that can always be expected from the banns."

"Which is why it's good that we're here. Put Bann Bronach in his place. Convince him to cooperate, and the others will follow suit."

"Yes." That is what he intended to do. And once the Bannorn was back in line, he would call a Landsmeet immediately, and get Anora on the throne before marching south with the armies.

He pushed back his annoyance at Bronach, and took a slow breath.

Everything was going to be fine. The Bannorn would come to their senses, and Anora would take the throne. They would fight the darkspawn and win. Things would fall into place. Everything seemed chaotic just now, but with a bit of patience and care, there was nothing so dire that it couldn't be set right again.

He stared off at the horizon, and the stark silhouette of Teyrn's Peak in the distance caught his eye.

The last time Loghain had ridden this way, he'd been with Rhianna. The day he'd asked her to marry him.

Maker.

Could that be set right again? His relationship with Rhianna? She'd done some questionable things, but he still refused to believe that she'd deliberately betrayed Ferelden. He wouldn't believe it, not until he'd heard what she had to say, from her own lips. There had to be some reasonable explanation for the things she had done. She'd been conscripted into the Wardens against her will, after all. Perhaps she didn't even know that she traveled with an Orlesian bard and Maric's bastard.

But if she didn't know, if she genuinely wanted what was best for Ferelden, why hadn't she come to Denerim? Why had she refused to come with his guards? Why had she escaped from Fort Gherlen? Everything she'd done since Ostagar was damning. And of course, what she did with Cailan the night before the battle was damning, as well, in other ways.

Even so, somewhere inside of him, there was still hope. Hope that the man Howe had hired would bring Rhianna to Denerim. That Loghain could sit down with her, and talk. Perhaps there was a reasonable explanation for everything. Perhaps this was all a misunderstanding, and she hadn't been part of any conspiracy to kill the king. She wasn't trying to help Orlais reoccupy Ferelden, or put Maric's bastard on the throne. Or both.

Was there even the slightest chance that somehow, they could go back to some shred of what they'd had in the past? Not romantically - that was over, forever. It had to be. Too much had passed between them, and she was Grey Warden now, with responsibilities Loghain couldn't even imagine.

But knowing that didn't stop him from missing her. Every single day. Missing the friendship they had shared. He'd thought her absence would grow easier to bear over time, but the opposite had happened. Especially now, with everything falling apart, he missed talking to her, missed her ability to know what he was thinking, and get right to the heart of things. Along with Cauthrien and Anora, he had trusted Rhianna's advice and opinions above all others, and talking to her had always helped him clarify things in his own mind. He missed her laughter. Her good cheer. The way she'd made him feel like he mattered to someone, truly mattered. That he wasn't broken beyond repair.

Even if that wasn't true.

The sound of marching feet broke the silence, as a small unit of soldiers crested a nearby hill.

Bronach had arrived.

Loghain cleared his mind of all else as the bann approached with his dozen guards.

Bronach was not much older than Loghain, but his hair and mustache were streaked with grey. He gave a cross-armed bow, which Loghain returned.

"Cold day to be out near the river." The unsmiling bann rubbed his hands together and gazed out over the water before meeting Loghain's eyes. "I sincerely hope this meeting won't prove to have been a waste of my time."

Loghain arched a brow. "Perhaps we should get down to business, then. You know why I'm here. I need soldiers. The loss of the king's army at Ostagar has left Ferelden in a bad way, but we can pull through this if we all work together."

"Work together?" The man's eyes narrowed. "That sounds lovely, but I wonder . . . what, precisely, would we be working together against? The darkspawn are the threat this country faces, but you don't seem to be fighting them. They're in the south, yet here you are, half a country away, with nothing better to do than harass me, while most of your own soldiers cool their heels along the western border. Lothering has already fallen, and now nothing stands between the darkspawn and the rest of Ferelden. And you've done what about that, exactly? Other than abandon Ostagar, and the rest of the south along with it."

Loghain took a slow breath, and let it out again. "Ostagar was not 'abandoned,'" he replied with forced calm. "The horde was too large to defeat – far larger than any of us expected. If we hadn't retreated, I'd have lost another three thousand men on top of those who died in the initial charge. Perhaps," he arched a brow, "if you had sent your soldiers south, as  _Cailan_  requested months before the battle, things would have gone differently."

A muscle beneath the bann's right eye twitched. "That doesn't answer my question. Why are you not fighting the darkspawn now?"

"I need troops to replace those that were lost at Ostagar, of course. It's not a difficult concept to grasp. Once I have the forces I require – soldiers from the Bannorn - we'll muster at both Winter's Breath and South Reach, and stop the darkspawn from pressing any farther north."

"Yes, but why do you need  _our_  soldiers? You've just admitted to having soldiers - those three thousand men you 'saved' by abandoning the king. Why aren't they at Winter's Breath and South Reach?"

Was the man being willfully obtuse, or was he really this stupid?

"You were there when we discussed this in Denerim. The darkspawn need to be dealt with, but they are not the only threat. Empress Celene sent four  _legions_  of chevaliers to Gherlen's Pass. If they manage to cross the border under the guise of 'helping 'us fight the darkspawn, do you really think they'll just skip merrily home again once the creatures have been defeated? This offer of help is no more than a ruse, to take advantage of us while we're under attack. My men can secure the border, but I need your help. Yours, and the rest of the Bannorn, to defend against the darkspawn."

"You say Orlais is a threat, yet they've made no move to attack the border, have they?"

"No. They allowed themselves to be turned away when they tried to cross. Because my troops were there to keep them out." He tried to keep the irritation from his voice. "You lived through the Occupation, Bronach, same as I did. You know Orlais poses a threat, whether they've gone on the offensive yet, or not. We can't risk an invasion, especially now."

"So you've been saying, over and over again for years now. You just expect all of us to believe your paranoid fantasies about Orlais. And yet, there's been no attack. In fact, there's been nothing but offers of friendship from the empress, at least from what King Cailan said." He paused. "Back when he was still alive."

"Offers of friendship?" He held the bann's gaze. "There is no such thing as an 'offer of friendship' from the Orlesian empress. She wants Ferelden, and she'll do or say whatever she thinks will make that happen. Cailan may have been naïve enough to believe her lies, but I am not. Nor should you be."

"Hmnh." He shrugged. "Well, I didn't come here to discuss the empress. What I really want to know is this: if I send my men with you, who will protect my bannric, should the need arise?"

"Protect Hafter River? Your bannric isn't in any imminent danger. The darkspawn are in the south. Have you not heard a word I've said? That's the reason I need troops now - to ensure that the darkspawn never make it any farther north. To ensure the safety of the Bannorn."

"Ah, yes of course. So, your plan is designed to keep us safe from the darkspawn? And, presumably, from Orlais?"

The man really was stupid. "Isn't that what I've just said? Multiple times?"

"Indeed you have. But what about your new ally, Arl Rendon Howe? Or is he calling himself  _teyrn_  now? Who will keep us safe from him? It hasn't escaped my notice that Howe has a sizable force in the Coastlands, all of whom who could be sent here on very short notice. If the Bannorn sends its soldiers south, what's to stop Howe from sweeping through and taking all our lands, as he did in Highever?"

Maker's balls. Had Howe's treachery in the north come back to haunt them already? Not that Bronach's fears were founded. Howe had no intention of attacking the Bannorn. If anything, Loghain had the opposite problem: if Howe became dissatisfied, he might well join with the Bannorn in this foolishness, just to force Loghain's hand.

Of course, he couldn't admit any of that to Bronach.

"Howe's troops will march south, to join the push against the darkspawn. He'll leave behind only as many soldiers as are necessary to defend the Coastlands against ships from Orlais. You have nothing to fear from Howe."

"I imagine that's what Bryce Cousland thought, too. Up until he was murdered."

Loghain held Bronach's gaze steadily. "Bryce Cousland was a traitor. He had allied himself with the Orlesian empress, and arranged a foreign marriage for his daughter. He was actively working against Ferelden's best interests. What happened in Highever was . . . regrettable. But necessary." Not, perhaps, the whole truth. But the truth was not likely to win Bronach's cooperation.

"A traitor?" Bronach's eyes grew wide. "I don't believe it."

"I didn't either, at first. But I assure you, it's true. Not only have I seen correspondence in Bryce's own hand, but there are eyewitnesses as to-"

He stopped mid-sentence.

"Eyewitnesses to what?" Bronach demanded.

"To Bryce's treachery," he lied. He wouldn't talk about Rhianna's relationship with this Orlesian cousin of Celene's. That was no one else's business. "Bryce Cousland sold out to Orlais. Howe had no choice but to act against him. So, as I said, you have nothing to fear from Rendon Howe." He paused. "Unless, of course, you have inappropriate dealings with Orlais yourself? I've not forgotten that you were a cousin to Revered Mother Bronach. One of Meghren's most staunch supporters during her tenure as head of the Fereldan Chantry."

Bronach took a step back. "Are you accusing me of treason?"

"Should I be?" He arched a brow. "Your refusal to heed the crown's request for soldiers comes dangerously close."

"How dare you!" He pulled himself to his full height. "None of what you're doing is satisfactory," he spat. "None of it. And I am not the only one who thinks so. You'll not get troops from me, or anyone else in the Bannorn, until we are confident that you are acting in Ferelden's best interest."

Loghain blinked. "You question my dedication to Ferelden? My defense of this country?"

Anger flared up in his chest, and his hands clenched themselves into fists.

"I question your judgment. So far, the decisions you've made have thrown Ferelden only deeper and deeper into harm's way And based on what? On decades-old resentments that should have been long put to rest?" He shook his head. "Winter is coming, man. Chevaliers won't come through the mountain passes when they're covered in snow. What I want - what the Bannorn  _demands_  - is that you pull your troops away from the border, and send them south. Do this, as a show of good faith that you actually intend to deal with this darkspawn problem."

A show of good faith? The anger burned brighter.

Before he could respond, the bann continued, "Your troops, and Howe's, should give you plenty of soldiers to fight the darkspawn, so you won't need any from me or my neighbors. At some point in the future, when we've seen for ourselves that our soldiers would be put to good use, we'll reconsider whether or not to send them. But for now, they stay here. Just in case."

"This is treason. When your queen requests you to send soldiers, you have a duty to do just that. You managed to weasel out of it at Ostagar, but now the time has come for you to make good on the oath you swore five years ago."

"My  _duty_  is to the people of my bannric. I have no duty to a 'queen' who has yet to be confirmed by a Landsmeet. And I have even less duty to her self-proclaimed regent. You have no claim on me, or on my troops, Mac Tir." He paused. "Perhaps if you were to step down as regent, and allow the matter of the succession to proceed as it should, I might feel differently. There are whispers, you know - more than just whispers - that you might have had something to do with the king's death. You can't expect us to bow to your demands, send away our soldiers and leave ourselves undefended."

Whispers that Loghain had been responsible for Cailan's death?

"Do you have the slightest idea what you're saying?" Loghain took a step toward Bronach, and the man flinched, but held his ground. "Cailan died because he refused to listen to reason, and now, Ferelden is under attack on more than one front. I will be  _damned_  if I'm going to step aside and allow the Orlesians and the darkspawn to consume this country because the Bannorn thinks itself above the law. Ferelden will be defended, at whatever cost. And if I have to force your cooperation, so be it."

"That's my point. You can't  _force_  our cooperation, Mac Tir. Have four hundred years of history taught you nothing? We are free men. We live free, and we will die free." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I will not send my troops just because you demand it, nor will the rest of the Bannorn."

No.

This was intolerable. Loghain had spent his entire life - his  _entire_  life, from the time he was sixteen years old - doing what needed to be done to keep Ferelden safe. He'd spent his life fulfilling promises made to his father, and to Maric. Spent his life dodging Orlesian assassins and suffering the insults of short-sighted, cowardly men like Bronach.

"So, that's your decision then?" Loghain spoke through clenched teeth. "You refuse to send aid in Ferelden's time of need?"

"Yes, that's my decision. I want nothing to do with you, or your barren daughter. And the rest of the Bannorn stands with me on this. Now, get off of my land. We're finished here."

Loghain's vision blurred with a bright flash of light, as the anger in his chest bloomed into a full-fledged fury that sent a shiver through his body.

He would not allow this man, nor anyone else, to stand in the way now. Would not –  _could not_  - allow them to render everything Loghain had done meaningless. He would not sit quietly and watch as Ferelden was ripped apart by the darkspawn, or Orlais, or the Bannorn's own stupidity. He owed Maric that much - the safe keeping of this land they'd both fought and sacrificed for. This land they'd bled for, and shed blood to preserve. And he wouldn't allow this insult to Anora – to Ferelden's  _queen_  - to stand.

Bann Bronach refused to send his men? Fine.

He would be the very last man to refuse in this way.

In one smooth motion, before Bronach or any of his soldiers knew what was happening, Loghain drew his sword and drove it into the man's gut.

Bronach's eyes grew wide. He clutched at the sword, coughing flecks of blood that colored his lips.

When Loghain pulled the sword out, the bann fell to the ground.

Shouts filled the air, as Bronach's guard drew their weapons, and Loghain's did the same. The opposing soldiers shifted where they stood, as if unsure what to do next.

Loghain stared down at the bann, and forced himself to breath deeply, and slowly. His hand trembled as it held his sword, the tip of which dripped with blood.

Maker. What had he done?

All around him, the soldiers bristled, as if waiting for some command. Bronach's soldiers looked to their leader, an older man whose face had gone pale. He turned his eyes on Loghain, and raised an arm to point a sword at Loghain's chest.

Before Loghain could respond, Bronach's guard was surrounded by Gwaren soldiers, all poised to attack.

"Stand down!" Cauthrien's voice rang loudly through the chill air. "All of you."

Most eyes turned to her, but no one lowered their swords.

"I said  _stand down_!"

Her words hung in the air, and then, with a quiet shuffling of feet, swords were lowered, and sheathed. She turned to Loghain, and he looked into her face. Her expression was inscrutable, as always. Only the slight widening of her eyes showed the alarm she must have felt.

"Your Grace?"

The rest of her question didn't need to be spoken: what now? What in the world were they to do now?

He hadn't intended this. It hadn't even crossed his mind that swords might be drawn this day. He had come to negotiate, that was all. Negotiate, and convince the Maker-damned banns that they had a duty to fulfill.

But Loghain was no diplomat, and Bronach was stubborn and stupid, and it was done. Loghain would just have to make the best of it.

He gave Cauthrien a slight nod, and took a deep breath.

"Men of Hafter River." He spoke loudly enough for all to hear. "You stand witness to what happened here today – to the death of a coward and a traitor. Know that this is what will happen to all who refuse to do their duty to Ferelden. We are at  _war_ , and I expect every noble in the land to give their wholehearted support, against the darkspawn and Orlais and anyone else who might threaten us. And I promise this: what happened to Bann Bronach is what will happen to any noble who refuses to live up to the oath they swore to serve the throne." He looked around, and met the gazes of those few willing to look him in the eye. "Take a good look at your fallen bann, and return home to spread word of what happened here today. I want this one thing to be absolutely clear: I will not hesitate to make an  _example_  of any bann who refuses to give their full support to Ferelden."

In the tense silence that followed, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the blood from his sword before returning it to its sheath.

This wasn't necessarily the worst thing that could have happened. Perhaps it would achieve the desired effect, as Ser Donnall's death had at Gwaren, during the Rebellion. That situation wasn't much different from this one: Donnall had challenged Maric, threatened to hand the prince over to Orlais; Loghain had run the man through. It worked then; the remaining banns had fallen over themselves in their eagerness to cooperate.

That's what would happen again now. 

Yes, killing Bronach was regrettable, perhaps, but if this one death convinced the rest of the Bannorn to fall into line, it will have been worth it. Then, Loghain would pull Ferelden through this crisis, just as he had pulled her through every challenge she had faced for the past thirty years.

He turned to Cauthrien.

Her brow arched slightly as she met his gaze, but whatever was on her mind, he knew she would not speak it until they were alone.

"Let us return to Denerim," he murmured.

She gave the command to the soldiers at his back. As one, they turned and began to march back toward the capital city.

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers: KatDancer, Yarnandtea, and Zillah1199.


	44. Those very same spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions arrive in Ortan Thaig.

__**5 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**The Deep Roads** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Nine days.

That's how long they'd been traveling the Deep Roads, according to the dwarves who claimed their stone sense allowed them to feel the passage of time.

For Rhianna, the absence of daylight, and lack of transitions from night to day and back again, left her completely cut off from the movement of time. At least in Orzammar, there had been clocks and regular meals and townspeople going about their business. But down here? There was nothing to indicate the time of day. Just endless stone, and the constant warm glow of lava, or the thin, cold light of Morrigan's staff.

To make matters worse, the hours seemed to crawl along. Was it the indeterminate passage of time, or merely the fact that she hated being so far underground? Either way, every 'evening' when Faren or Oghren suggested stopping to make camp, Rhianna felt as though they'd traveled for days and days since the 'morning.'

No, she found it difficult to believe it had been only nine days; it felt as though at least a month had passed since they'd gone to the lowest level of Orzammar, and been allowed to enter the Deep Roads by the dwarven guards.

"Just so you know," the captain of the guard had winked as the huge doors were unlocked, "these tunnels weren't built tall enough for humans."

Thankfully, the dread that comment had inspired didn't last long - as soon as they entered the Deep Roads, they discovered that the passages built by the dwarves in some distant past weren't small and cramped. They were magnificent: straight and wide, with elegantly carved pillars that stretched up to a ceiling high overhead. Troughs along the sides of the road ran with molten lava, providing the same warm light that illuminated Orzammar. As long as Rhianna distracted herself from thinking about what lay above, traveling the Deep Roads wasn't as uncomfortable as she'd feared it would be.

It was only when the way was blocked - proof that the tunnels  _did_  collapse occasionally - that she had difficulty. When they were forced to travel through rough-hewn tunnels, lit only by Morrigan's staff, Rhianna felt as though she were traveling through the innards of some huge beast, and anxiety flared in her chest. Of course, finding sections of the Deep Roads collapsed raised some disturbing questions. Why had the dwarven construction - supposedly the finest in all the world - failed? Were the cave-ins a natural event, or had the tunnels been sabotaged by the darkspawn?

Rhianna disliked the idea that darkspawn might have the level of intelligence required to carry out such a strategy, but she liked even less the thought that the roof above her head was so fragile that it might collapse at any moment. So, for now, she decided that the darkspawn had been the reason for the destruction they saw around them. It made her feel slightly better. But only slightly.

So, she focused on her breath, and on taking one measured step after another, and pushed away thoughts of the roof collapsing, and being trapped down here forever. It didn't help that distractions were few and far between.

The most exciting thing that had happened so far was their discovery of Caridin's Cross, on their fourth or fifth day of travel. It was indeed a grand crossroads - the tunnels larger and brighter and more elaborately decorated than the sections they'd traveled through to get here. A surprise awaited them there: a band of thugs hired, no doubt, by Harrowmont. They shouted out some nonsense about "killing Bhelen's hirelings" before they attacked. Once they'd been defeated, Faren and Oghren studied the maps and agreed upon the direction in which Ortan Thaig was most likely located. As Rhianna had no option but to trust their judgement, she allowed the dwarves to lead the way into yet another section of the dwarven roads.

Not very many things lived beneath the surface. They saw the occasional nug - small hairless animals that looked like a cross between a pig and a rabbit - and there were things the dwarves called 'deepstalkers' - bizarre creatures that looked like giant featherless chickens with long necks. They were almost cute, with their lithe bodies and the little chirping sounds they made, except for their mouths, which were round and toothed, reminding Rhianna of sucker fish she'd seen occasionally in the Waking Sea.

And of course, there were darkspawn, although not nearly as many as she'd expected. The companions had encountered small groups here and there, but for the most part the tunnels were clear.

One thing was different, though, from when she'd seen darkspawn at Ostagar. Rhianna was now able to sense their presence, as Alistair had promised would happen. Apparently, the taint inside of her had become attuned to the taint in other creatures. At first, she didn't realize what was happening, only that she felt more edgy and anxious than usual, and there was a slight ringing in her ears. Then, she'd feel a sensation almost as though insects were crawling just underneath her skin, and finally, she'd feel it in her gut - like a hand reached inside of her and tugged, hard. The first few times it had happened, she'd rubbed at her arms and wondered if she was ill, or if there was something in the cave that was making her itch.

Finally, though, she put two and two together: these sensations happened right before they encountered darkspawn in the tunnels.

It wasn't a particularly comfortable feeling, although no doubt she'd get used to it in time. Just one more reason to end this Blight as quickly as possible. The sooner she could avoid darkspawn altogether, the better.

As uncomfortable as it was to sense them, however, she almost wished there were more of the creatures. Being attacked did break up the monotony of walking through the interminable depths of the Deep Roads.

She wouldn't have minded some conversation, either, but most everyone seemed inclined toward silence. Probably, they were nervous about traveling underground, just as she was, except for the dwarves, of course. Faren seemed to be in a world of his own at the moment, probably thinking about his sister. And Oghren just kept marching, his eyes focused on the road ahead. Was he not in the mood for small talk until he'd found some evidence of Branka's presence? Or was this just the way he was when not completely drunk?

The only one who seemed interested in talking was Zevran. He walked beside her, staying especially close when they traveled through the rough, natural tunnels. He was consistently cheerful; apparently, he had no hard feelings about her rejection that last night in Orzammar.

That was refreshing.

"So," Rhianna began, as they got back on the road after having stopped for a meal. "Tell me a bit about Antiva."

"All right. What would you like to know?"

"Oh, I don't know. My sister-in-law was born there, so I've heard stories from her, although I think she might have left out some of the more interesting parts. One hears talk about assassins and murders and such, but none of her stories ever featured any of that."

"Well, if she is from Antiva, I assure you she knows stories about assassins. I wonder, did she think you would be frightened to hear about the murders and goings on in my homeland?"

"Almost certainly, it was just the opposite," Rhianna chuckled. "I always loved hearing those sorts of stories, so she probably worried that I'd be tempted to run off and become an assassin myself, if she made it sound too exciting."

"That is a pity."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that you would have made a wonderful assassin,  _bella mia_." He glanced at her, head to toe. "In a silk gown - something with a dramatic neckline, and jewels at your throat - you would be even more deadly than you are now. Before your mark had finished trying to seduce you, he would be dead and you would be long gone. I think perhaps you have missed your true calling. Although," he rubbed at his chin, "I suppose it is not too late."

Rhianna's laugh echoed through the tunnel. It was almost a cheerful sound.

"You think I should become an assassin? And just what would that require?"

"Well, the Crows would have the world believe that their abilities are trade secrets, learned only through an involved process that takes years and years of training, but in truth all that is required is a desire to kill people for a living. An assassin simply specializes in striking from stealth, and in maximizing that first attack to be as lethal as possible. To be honest, you would require very little training. You already possess the quickness, the stealth, the accuracy with a blade. My one suggestion is that you should learn about poisons. The right substance on your blade can debilitate your foe instantly, making it that much easier to land the killing blow."

"Poison? And yet you didn't employ this strategy when fighting me, did you?"

"No, I did not. And look how that turned out for me - clearly, I should have taken my own advice." His grin was infectious. "You know, I could teach you a thing or two about poisons, if you like. With just a little bit of time, I will turn you into a fine assassin."

"Except for the part where I don't actually want to kill people for a living."

"There is that, I suppose." He paused. "Although, to be honest, are you sure you are not already in the business of killing people,  _carina_? You did take out an entire crime syndicate. I think that qualifies."

"Ah, well, in my defense, Prince Bhelen didn't actually  _pay_  me to do that."

"Fair enough. Which makes killing, what? More of a hobby for you, then?" He winked, as she burst into laughter again. "But, you said you wish to know about Antiva. Hmnh. Where to begin? To be honest, the only way to truly appreciate my homeland is to go there. Antiva is . . . beautiful. It is a warm place, but rains often, so flowers are always in bloom. We have beaches of pure white sand, and sparkling seas the color of sapphires. There is always music in the air, and the food . . . oh, there is nothing quite as satisfying as a plate of noodles topped with fragrant meat sauce and cheese. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace, which is itself a glorious and shining jewel."

"It sounds wonderful. I've always wanted to visit Antiva." A stab of grief, to remember that Loghain had promised to take her there someday.

" _Bella_? Is everything all right?"

She blinked. He must have seen something of her thoughts in her expression. "Yes, of course. I . . . um . . . Oriana - my sister-in-law - didn't make it sound nearly as romantic."

"Then her stories did not do it justice. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City." He arched a brow. "What of yourself? Do you come from some place comparable?"

"Me? I was born in Highever, on the coast of the Waking Sea."

"Highever, eh? I have never been to this place, although I'm sure it has it's charms. Well, one fewer charm, now that you are no longer there." He winked again. "I assume, however, it also has its dogs, and its mud, like the rest of Ferelden. And the cold. This country of yours is rather relentlessly cold, at least it seems so to me after living in the north."

"Dogs and mud? I don't know about mud, but it's true that we love our dogs."

Dane, who trotted at Rhianna's other side, huffed appreciatively.

"You might like the weather in Highever, though," she continued. "Because of its location near the water, it's milder than places inland. It never gets quite as cold in the winter, nor as warm in the summer. And it is beautiful. The Coastlands are the most beautiful place I've ever been. The castle sits on a hill, so from the top of the battlements you can see for miles north out to the sea, or to the mountains in the east, or the forests in the south and west. I spent a lot of time at the top of those battlements, just looking out over the view.

"I could never decide if I preferred the beaches and the sea," she mused aloud, "or if I preferred the mountains with their magnificent trees. I suppose I spent more time in the mountains, though. My brother and I used to camp there, when I was younger." A smile came to her face. "There's a place in those mountains, a lake with a small waterfall - it's my favorite place in the whole world. We used to swim there . . ." The smile slipped away as a memory of a day spent there with Maric and Loghain flitted into her mind.

No. She wouldn't think of that now. "I love Highever," she said. "And I miss it, dreadfully."

"Yes, I can hear in your voice that this is true, just as I miss Antiva." He paused. "You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels . . . do you know what I miss the most?"

"What?"

"The leather."

"Leather? Is that some kind of . . . euphemism?"

"Haha, no! I mean the smell of actual leather. You see, for years, after being purchased by the Crows, I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day, the smell of fresh leather reminds me of home more than anything else. Not just any leather, though. It must be Antivan. I do not know what the Antivan tanners do that is different, but there is no leather more supple nor more fragrant." He sighed. "Before I left Antiva, to come here, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. They were of the finest Antivan leather, with perfect craftsmanship, but I left them behind. I intended to buy them when I returned as a reward for a job well done."

"The 'job' being killing me?"

"Indeed. It is clear that I was a fool to leave them, since now that particular reward will never be earned. And here I am, with quite mediocre boots. Even so, I do not mean to complain. I am not discontent. How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a Grey Warden, a woman both beautiful and merciful, who then spares my life? This, I think, is a treasure greater than any pair of boots. And, if someday I should happen to return to Antiva, a pair of boots will be waiting for me, of this I have no doubt."

"If you return? Do you not want to go back?"

"I wish to go back. Very much so. But I am not sure when it will be possible. When it will be . . . safe, or at least reasonably so."

"Because of the Crows?"

"Because of the Crows."

"Once they realize that you failed in your mission, will they look for you here, as well? In Ferelden, I mean. Not down here in the Deep Roads."

"Ah, if they were to turn up here underground, I think I would surrender to them willingly. They would deserve to succeed, after making the effort required to find us in the Deep Roads, don't you agree?" He chuckled. "Either way, yes, they will look for me in Ferelden. Even had I not failed, the Crows do not take kindly to people who try to leave. In fact, I'm sure I have already become the next mark for some up-and-coming Crow. The only way to truly leave with any hope of survival is to make them believe you are dead. So," he shrugged, "that they will come for me eventually is inevitable. Of course, 'eventually' can be a very, very long time if one plays one's cards right."

"Did you enjoy it? Being an assassin for the Crows, I mean. Will you continue to do that, freelance, as it were, once we're finished with the darkspawn?"

"Well, as you know, I did not choose this line of work for myself. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. So, from a very young age, it was drilled into my head that killing people is what I would do for the rest of my life. But . . . yes, I suppose I enjoy being an assassin. And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. It gets you women . . . or men, or whatever else it is you might fancy. As far as enjoying the act of killing itself, why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into someone's flesh and knowing their life is in your hands. Surely, you understand this. I have seen you fight. Do not try and tell me you do not enjoy it."

"I suppose I do, but it's the fighting that I enjoy, not the killing. The challenge of it, the passion, the strength of my body, and the strength of will it takes to be better than my opponent. The strength to win. The killing only comes after all that is over, and only when it's absolutely necessary."

But was that true? She'd slit Jarvia's throat without a moment's hesitation. Why not disable the woman, and bring her to Bhelen, as originally intended?  _Had_  Rhianna enjoyed it? And what was it Jarvia had said? That Rhianna looked comfortable covered in blood?

She pushed those thoughts away. "Surely," she said, "you're glad I didn't just kill  _you_  right away, when I had the chance."

"That is a good point," he admitted. "And yes, I am very glad." He chuckled. "To answer your original question, I suppose I will continue to do it. It is, after all, a living, and the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else? Going into business for myself? As what, a merchant? Or perhaps I could learn blacksmithing. I would look magnificent in one of the aprons they wear, would I not?"

He put his hands to his hips, and posed dramatically.

"Yes, irresistible," she laughed. Her smile faded, though, and again the image of Jarvia, blood seeping from the wound in her throat, flitted into Rhianna's mind. "But don't you feel . . . bad about it? About killing people?"

"Feel bad? No, not really. Some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?"

Rendon Howe's face appeared in her mind.

Perhaps Zevran was right. Except . . .

"Some people? Like me, for example?"

He gave a soft groan. "I was hoping that might have slipped your mind." He paused. "At this moment, I will admit to being very glad I didn't not succeed in killing you. But this is only because I have come to know you over these past few days. Now, I know that you are definitely not the sort of person who needs assassinating. But if I had killed you when I was supposed to, we would never have spent this time together, and I wouldn't know any better. So, I can't truthfully say I would have felt bad about it, either way. 'Death happens,' as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often. I console myself with the notion that most of them had it coming."

"A logical argument, but I'm still not sure I agree. Are you certain, for example, that you've never killed an innocent?"

"Ah, but 'innocent' is such an interesting word, is it not? How many men - or women - do you know who can claim to be truly innocent? But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such . . . I have never killed someone like that on purpose. But, I will admit, it happens. It is unfortunate, but death comes to us all in the end. For some, I am the one who will bring it, and if not me, then some wasting disease, or a fall down the stairs. I see no point in feeling uncomfortable about it when I happen to be the instrument of fate." He paused, and studied her face, as though he meant to ask her something.

He made a soft sound in his throat, and shook his head. "And what about you,  _Bella_? What do you intend to do once this is over? I understand your previous life is . . . not something to which you could return?"

"No," she admitted. "It isn't. Well, perhaps I could return to Highever, once Rendon Howe has been dealt with, but I don't think Grey Wardens are allowed to hold titles. So . . . well, I honestly don't know. If you want to know the truth, I've put a great deal of effort into ignoring thoughts of the future. Presuming there is one."

"Ah, good point. Chances are that you and I both will perish long before such decisions would need to be made. Eaten by darkspawn or slain by the Crows in some very gruesome manner. At any rate, for now, naturally, I go where you go. I am happy with this arrangement."

"And I'm happy to have you along." After the words left her lips, she realized they were true.

He grinned. "Isn't it wonderful how things work out that way?"

‹›‹O›‹›

Just a few minutes later, they came to a place where the dwarven construction had collapsed. Faren and Oghren stood shoulder to shoulder, studying the maps.

"We should be getting close now," Oghren announced. He pointed to a tunnel that led off of the right-hand wall of the main road. "With any luck, this will lead us back to the road, and we could reach the thaig in just a few hours."

In this new tunnel, something was different. There were darkspawn. Dead darkspawn, recently slaughtered; their fresh corpses littered the floor of the tunnel.

"Who do you think killed them," Alistair asked. "Could Branka have done this?"

"Of course Branka did this," Oghren replied, his voice more cheerful than ever before. "Who else do you think is down here? We're closing in on her fast, now! Just like I knew we would."

As much as Rhianna wanted that to be true - that Branka was nearby, and they were nearly finished with tunnels and dwarven politics and could leave this place altogether - as they continued along, she began to suspect that Branka hadn't killed these darkspawn at all.

In addition to the darkspawn on the ground, large bundles hung from the ceiling, wrapped in some sort of white fabric. When she found one hanging low enough to examine properly, she realized it was a dead genlock, wrapped up in some sort of cocoon. She'd seen cocoons similar to these many times - in the garden at Highever, in the woods, even occasionally in the kitchen pantry. Only she'd never seen them this size before.

"Branka didn't kill these dwarves," she said.

"'Course she did," Oghren replied. "Who else could have?"

"I think . . . I think spiders did this."

"Spiders?" Alistair shook his head. "You can't be serious. What kind of spider could do a thing like this?"

Before Rhianna could respond, a sibilant chittering echoed off of the walls, and, as if on cue, an enormous spider dropped from the ceiling, with two others close behind.

Except calling them 'enormous' hardly did them justice. Up until this moment, she'd have considered an 'enormous' spider one that mostly filled the palm of her hand; only rarely had she seen spiders that big in the woods near Highever, or down near the beach.

These spiders were nothing like those. They were several orders of magnitude larger - the size of horses, but with longer legs with a much wider reach. Each cluster of eyes on their bulbous heads was the size of a dinner plate, and venom dripped from dagger-like mandibles.

She reached out to one of them with her mind, but was confronted with a jumble of confused thoughts: anger and hunger, and something dark, like the taint.

Had these spiders been tainted by eating the darkspawn?

Before she could speak the question aloud, the creatures attacked with frightening speed. One of them leapt at Faren, and pierced his arm with its fangs. Sten was the first to draw his weapon; he rushed in and brought his sword down at the joint between the spider's head and body, decapitating the creature in a single blow.

One of Morrigan's spells whizzed through the air, knocking a second spider back while Leliana's arrows finished it off. The third fell beneath the combined might of Alistair and Oghren.

"I . . . I think I could use a bit of help." Faren's voice shook as he lost his balance, and fell to his knees.

Wynne hurried to the man's side. "Let me have a look."

The mage pushed back the sleeve of Faren's shirt.

"Oh dear," she murmured.

The bite consisted of two round wounds spaced several inches apart. The skin surrounding the bites had begun to swell, and the edges of the wound had turned black. As they watched, dark tendrils moved outward from the wounds, and crawled up his arm: the venom moving through his veins.

Wynne spoke soft words, and a greenish glow left her hands. It enveloped Faren's arm, and was quickly absorbed. The black trail of venom began to fade, until it disappeared completely, and the two puncture wounds sealed themselves.

"Thank you . . . thank you very much." Faren stumbled as Daveth helped him back to his feet. "That was . . . uncomfortable."

"Yeah, I don't doubt that," Alistair said. He glanced at Rhianna. "Giant spiders? I'm not sure I would have thought it possible before today, but those things were even worse than the darkspawn."

"They were, weren't they," she agreed. To Faren, "Do you need to rest for a few minutes? Before we continue on?"

"No." The dwarf's voice was firm. "No, let's keep going. I'd really like to be out of these tunnels, the sooner the better. Let's push on and find the thaig, where we'll be safe from these spiders, and everything else."

No one had any argument with this.

"Rhianna?" When the others began to travel down the tunnel, Zevran waved her over, as he knelt beside one of the spiders. "Watch. A lesson in poisoning, as promised." With a controlled motion, he pushed his dagger into a spot just below and to the side of one of the creature's eyes. When he withdrew the weapon, a viscous dark green liquid oozed from the wound, and Zevran collected it into a vial. "Spider venom. Very deadly. I did not want to say this where the dwarf could hear, but had our lovely Circle mage not been there with a spell, he would have died within minutes. Very deadly, indeed. And when used to coat a blade, very effective in causing a rapid death."

"Is it dangerous to touch with bare hands?"

"No; it will only take effect if ingested, or delivered into an open wound. It is perfectly safe otherwise. So long as you don't cut yourself with your own blade, that is." He pressed the vial into her hand. "Here. You keep this. Perhaps you will have the urge to try it one of these days."

"You really are going to try and turn me into an assassin, aren't you?"

"Ah,  _Bella,_ " he grinned. "You have uncovered my dastardly plan."

She tucked the vial into a pocket. "We'll see. Just be careful not to make me angry, or I might decide to practice on you."

His laughter echoed off the tunnel walls.

‹›‹O›‹›

Barely half an hour had passed when Daveth, who had taken point, called for them to halt.

"Something's going on up ahead," he murmured. "Some sort of commotion."

Rhianna listened; sure enough, shouts and grunts could be heard, along with the clang of metal against stone. A battle up ahead involving darkspawn, judging by the way her body tingled.

"That's Branka," Oghren shouted. "It's got to be! Let's get in there and give her a hand!"

He drew his sword and charged down the tunnel; the others had little choice but to follow.

They emerged into a large cavern that seemed to be part of the natural tunnel system rather than any dwarven-built thaig. At the far end, a battle was, indeed, in progress, but it was immediately apparent that it had nothing whatsoever to do with Branka.

It appeared as though several of the gigantic spiders had attacked a darkspawn patrol. Or perhaps the patrol had attacked the spiders. Either way, a battle raged between several of the horrible eight-legged creatures and an array of hurlocks and genlocks, and a pair of huge ogres. Over the bellowing of the darkspawn and the chittering of the spiders, another sound could be heard: a high-pitched shrieking that made Rhianna want to cover her ears. It seemed to come from some unfamiliar creatures that seemed to be allied with the darkspawn, vaguely humanoid in shape, but with long limbs, bald heads, and hunched backs.

Rhianna motioned for the others to stop.

"Let's hang back for a minute; let them do as much damage to one another as possible before we get too close." She drew her bow. "Those of us with arrows and spells can attack from here; everyone else wait until I give the signal to charge. Target the spiders; they're more dangerous than the darkspawn."

The tactic worked well. The spiders, their attention focused on fighting the darkspawn, didn't immediately notice that they were being attacked from behind. The spiders brought down one of the ogres, and the companions felled three of the spiders before any of the creatures turned to face this new threat. When two of the spiders finally noticed, Rhianna gave the signal to charge.

"Alistair, stick close," she shouted. "You and I are going after the ogre. Wait for me to distract it, and then charge."

"You've got it!"

With Alistair at her heels, Rhianna ran for the ogre. While it was distracted by one of the remaining spiders, Rhianna darted in and stabbed at its side with her longsword. She was rewarded by an ear-splitting bellow as the ogre turned to see what had caused this fresh pain. Rhianna leapt back out of arm's reach, and brandished her longsword.

"Come on, you ugly bastard! Come and get me!"

Furious, it stomped at the ground with one foot and lowered its head to charge. Rhianna easily dodged to the side, while Alistair ran in for a flanking attack, and slashed through the tough skin of the creature's huge thigh.

With an echoing roar, the ogre drew itself up to full height. From one side, Rhianna leapt at the beast, aiming her dagger at the vulnerable flesh of its neck. It turned its head just in time to see her attack, though, and swept at her with one of its massive arms. She flew backwards and landed with a thump that knocked the breath out of her. Alistair charged; he jumped onto the creature's back, and drove his sword deep into its neck.

Bellowing, the ogre fell to its knees. Alistair hopped to the floor, and bashed the thing in the head with his shield. One more slash of his sword across the creature's throat, and it slumped to the ground and lay still.

Nearby, Leliana felled one of the unfamiliar creatures – horrible things that attacked much faster than any other darkpawn - and Faren whirled around to decapitate the last of the genlocks. Sten's sword put an end to the remaining spider, and just like that, the battle was done.

Daveth jogged over to where Rhianna lay on the ground, and offered her a hand. As he pulled her to her feet, pain exploded in her side, so fierce it brought tears to her eyes.

"Oh, Maker," she breathed. "I think something's broken. Probably a rib. Maybe more than one."

"Damn it." Daveth grasped her arm to help steady her. "Wynne! Wynne, over here!"

The mage hurried over, and sent the cool, blue glow of a healing spell washing across Rhianna's body.

Once she could breathe again, Rhianna examined the fallen creatures. Nearly a dozen spiders, and two dozen darkspawn lay dead on the cavern floor.

Alistair came up beside her. "This is largest number of darkspawn we've seen in one place so far, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is."

"I would have thought there'd be fewer of them as we got closer to the dwarven city. Didn't you?"

"I'm not sure what I expected, to be honest."

Expected or not, though, huge spiders and dozens of darkspawn? That didn't exactly bode well for whatever might lie ahead in Ortan Thaig.

‹›‹O›‹›

They emerged from the system of tunnels, and, almost immediately, came to the end of one of the dwarven roads. Here, there was an opening in the wall of rock, as though a set of huge double doors had once stood there. Beyond them lay a cavernous open space.

"By the tits of my ancestors. Ortan Thaig." For the first time, Oghren's voice wasn't sarcastic or lewd. He sounded almost awestruck. "I never thought I'd see this place in the flesh. Look here." He walked over to the entrance, and ran his fingers across a small dent in the stone. "I can see Branka all over this place. She always took chips from the walls at regular intervals when she was in a new tunnel, to check their composition."

That was remarkably good news.

They stepped into the cavern.

"But," Oghren added, "it's clear that she's long gone - if she was still here, she'd have sentries out."

"So." Alistair's voice was little more than a whisper. "This is the city Caridin built?"

"No," Oghren replied. "Not a city. This was Ortan Thaig, Caridin's home thaig. The place where he was born. The city he built is called Bownammar, the city of the dead, which he built to honor the Legion of the Dead, but I guess he didn't want to move his people there. Hardly a surprise, from what I've heard - the place is more like a sodding mausoleum than anywhere a person would want to live. Of course, all of this happened before he built the Anvil."

"Well," Rhianna said, "let's have a closer look. See if we can't figure out how long ago Branka was here, and which way she might have gone when she left."

Assuming she had, indeed, left. Perhaps all they would find was her corpse, which would be too bad for Oghren, but honestly, wouldn't make Rhianna unduly sad, if it meant they could be finished with this mission, and head back to Orzammar right away.

Oghren led the way deeper into the cavern. The ancient thaig was beautiful, with lavishly carved pillars and statues, and buildings of stonework unlike any Rhianna had seen before. They had entered what looked like a courtyard surrounded by buildings, and at the far end, an enormous statue of a bearded dwarf loomed up above. The dwarf's head appeared to be holding up the very ceiling overhead.

There was something strange about the lighting here, though. Something . . . different. In addition to the light from a few isolated pools of lava, there was a soft bluish glow that emanated from above.

Rhianna took a step forward, and then another, and another, almost unable to believe her eyes.

Maker's breath. Could it really be . . .?

It was. Oh, Maker, it was.

Sunlight. Real sunlight. It was dim and weak, having traveled down through shafts in the rock overhead, but it was sunlight, the first Rhianna had seen in days and days and days.

She inhaled deeply through her nose. Yes. There was a freshness to the air here that was absent in the tunnels.

Joy expanded in her chest as a smile burst across her face. They must have moved steadily upward on their journey here, until they were once again close to the surface. The sky was up there somewhere, and not so terribly far away.

"Everyone, look!" She turned, but before she could say anything more, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Something huge, moving toward her very, very fast.

A spider, even larger than the ones they'd encountered in the tunnels. She drew her sword, aware that her companions were doing the same, as spiders rushed at them from every direction. She charged the nearest one and swiped at it with her longsword while taking care not to get close to its venomous fangs.

Someone cried out in pain - Leliana, perhaps - but Rhianna was surrounded by enemies, and unable to see what had happened. She cut the legs out from under one of them, and then drove her sword through the eye of another. Again and again, she slashed at their fat, loathsome bodies, until none of the creatures were left standing.

It was Leliana who had cried out; Jowan was at her side with healing magic.

"Spiders? Right here in the thaig?" Faren shook his head. "I would never have imagined such a thing possible. This was once one of the grandest thaigs in all the dwarven kingdoms, and to think, it's been overrun by these beasties?"

Rhianna glanced up to see a network of spun gossamer hanging over their heads. These spiders had made their home here for quite some time now.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Of course they had. And she should have expected to find them here.

This - all of this - was exactly as Loghain had described, in the story he had told her when she was five. It happened right here, in Ortan Thaig, as he'd traveled through with Maric and Rowan and the elven woman, years and years ago.

Maker's breath.

And now here  _she_  was, in that very same thaig, with those very same spiders. Or descendants of those spiders, anyway.

The memory was dim - she'd been so very young, after all - but she still held in her mind an image of Loghain's face, as he looked down at her as she sat in his lap. He had brought this very place to life in her imagination, with a tale of dwarves and spiders and darkspawn. How wide his eyes had become when he came to the exciting parts. How he'd grabbed her, and made her scream in horror and delight. That was the first time she'd met him, on that day so many years ago, when he'd bandaged her arm and told her a story.

Now here she was, in Ortan Thaig, where Loghain and Maric had walked. Possibly stood on this very spot. What would Loghain think if he knew she were standing here right now? Would he find it amusing? Ironic?

Probably he'd hope for the spiders to finish her off, since the assassin he'd hired had failed to do so.

A hot tear slipped down her cheek and a sob caught in her throat.

After all the things they had shared, Loghain wanted her dead. He'd pulled her into his lap when she was five years old, and told her a story. A wonderful story. And then they'd been friends, and they'd written to one another while he was away at sea, and then there had been those few weeks in Denerim . . .

And now, he wanted her dead.

How in the world had it ever come to this?

She sobbed again, and could no longer hold back the tears that insisted upon falling.

Someone grabbed her arm, and spun her around.

Alistair.

"Rhianna? Rhianna, what's wrong? Where are you hurt?" He turned away. "Wynne? Wynne! We need you over here right now!"

"No." She pulled away from his grasp and wiped frantically at the tears. "No, I don't need healing. Please . . . just let me be for a minute. Please." She turned, and crossed to a nearby building, where she rested her cheek on the cool stone of its wall. Alistair followed her - she could feel his presence just behind her, - but, thankfully, he didn't speak, or try to touch her again.

Andraste's arse. She needed to get control of herself. This was ridiculous. Ridiculous, and unacceptable. To be crying about Loghain out of the blue like this? She needed to move past this. Find some way to accept what had happened, and move on.

Only she hadn't expected to be reminded of him here, and certainly not so forcefully.

That was stupid of her, really. She should have remembered the story, realized that Ortan Thaig and Loghain were irrevocably linked in her memories.

But she hadn't remembered, and now everything hurt.

When she was able to catch her breath, she wiped the tears away and turned to lean her back against the wall. Alistair was there, as were Daveth and Leliana.

"Rhianna?" Daveth's put a hand on her shoulder. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes at the gentle way he spoke. "No. There isn't. I just . . . I just remembered something I wish I hadn't. I'm fine though, really. Let's . . . let's have a look around, shall we? See if there's any sign of Branka."

Rhianna in Ortan Thaig, painted by [QueenDread](http://queendread.tumblr.com/). 

‹›‹O›‹›

As they wandered through the thaig, it became obvious this had once been a thriving, vibrant community. The streets were lined by well-constructed buildings, intact even after years of neglect. Statues stood in courtyards, and a pair of stone bridges spanned the river that separated the main part of the town from a single, large building on the other side. They crossed one of the bridges to have a closer look, but the purpose of this lone building was unclear. A house of worship, perhaps? Or the Shaperate? Not even Oghren or Faren could venture a guess.

They crossed back over the river on the second bridge, and approached what had probably been the market square. It was easy to imagine the area surrounded by stalls, and filled with merchants hawking their wares.

"Rhianna?" Daveth's hand on her arm stopped her, as the others continued ahead. "A minute?"

"Of course."

"Look, forgive me if this is out of line, but . . . I just wanted to check in with you. Make sure everything's okay. You . . . well, I know something upset you when we got here, and I just wanted to see if maybe you wanted to talk."

"Oh. Thank you." She shook her head. "I . . . I don't think talking would do any good. It's just that, well, Loghain came here, years ago, and he told me about it. The very first time we ever met, in fact, he told me about it. And remembering that day was . . . hard. It all came back to me, and I just . . . well, it reminded me of . . . everything." She ran a hand through her hair. "I'm being stupid, that's all. I promise, nothing's really wrong."

He studied her face. "All right. If you say so. Just remember, I'm here if you need anything. Anything at all, all right?"

"I'll remember." She managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Daveth. I do appreciate you asking, I really do. But I'll be fine, I promise."

As they rejoined the others, Oghren stood in the center of the square, hands on his hips. "Nothing. No sign of her here. I don't understand. I thought for sure Branka would be here, or at least there'd be some evidence of her having passed through. But there's nothing."

"What's that over there?" Leliana pointed to a spot on the cavern wall beyond the marketplace. There, a tunnel opened up in the wall, and something moved in the darkness . . . a light that flickered from within.

"A campfire!" Once again, Oghren led the way. "That'll be her! By the Ancestors, I knew we'd find her!"

As they approached to the tunnel, a bearded figure darted into view.

"There's nothing for you here! It's mine! I've claimed it! All of it! You've come to take my claim! You surfacers are all alike! Thieving scoundrels! But I found it first! Go away! Go  _away_!"

The man - for it was, indeed, a dwarven man - turned and scurried back into the tunnel.

"Maker," Leliana breathed. "Who in the world was that?"

"Maybe he's with Branka," Jowan suggested. "Maybe we've found them?"

"Bah!" Oghren exclaimed. "I've never seen him before; he's not one of Branka's men."

"But maybe he'll know something about her," Faren suggested. "We should follow him, and see what he knows."

Rhianna strode toward the tunnel, intrigued, and the others followed. It led only a short distance before it dead-ended in a small cavern. The room was lit with a modest campfire, and scantly furnished with broken-down tables and bookshelves and something that might have been a sofa, once upon a time - all things that must have been scavenged Maker knows how long ago.

The dwarf cowered in the far corner.

"Go away," he shouted. "It's Ruck's claim, not yours! All mine, all mine! You'll bring the dark ones back, you will! They'll crunch your bones! Crunch your bones!" He spoke with a strange cadence that sent a chill down her spine.

"Damnit." Oghren crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Branka's not here, and he's crazier than a blind nug. We should just leave him be."

But what had he called himself? Ruck? She'd heard that name somewhere before. In Orzammar . . . the woman who had been praying at the ancestor stone. Filda. She'd said her son was called Ruck.

Maker's breath, could this possibly be that boy?

"Crazy or not," she murmured, "I think I know who he his."

Rhianna took a few slow steps forward, her hands held palms outward in a gesture meant to indicate she meant him no harm.

"Ruck? Can we talk for a few minutes?"

He pushed himself back even further into the corner. "Go away! This is mine! It's mine! I'm the one who found it. I drove out the crawlers. Now it's mine! Only I gets to plunder its riches!"

"I'm not here to plunder," she soothed. "I just want to talk. I won't take anything, I promise."

"Not steal? Just talk?" He took a single step out of the shadows.

Clearly, this man was ill. His skin was strangely discolored, and he hunched his shoulders. His body listed to one side, while his head cocked in the opposite direction, and he twitched and shuddered as he spoke.

"Pretty lady . . . pretty eyes, pretty hair." He turned his head away, as if he didn't want to look Rhianna in the face. "Smells like the steam of burning water, blue as the deepest rock. The pretty lady won't take anything from Ruck? You won't take Ruck's shiny worms and pretty rocks?"

"I won't take anything. I just want to talk."

"Oh. Ruck not mind that, maybe."

"So, your name is Ruck? Mine is Rhianna."

"Rhianna. That's a pretty name. Ruck not pretty name. Not pretty like lady. Ruck is small and ugly and twisted. But I will answer your questions, pretty lady. Anything you wish."

"I think you have an admirer," Zevran murmured. Rhianna glanced at him, and Zevran shrugged. "Not that I blame him. He is not the only one who finds you beautiful,  _Bella_."

Rhianna turned back to Ruck. "All these things here. Do you know how they got here? Were there people here with you, before? People who'd come in search of an ancient artifact?"

"People? No. There were no people. Not since Ruck has been here. Everything was here when I arrived. Everything the crawlers did not already take. Rocks and tents and worms. It's all mine!" He clenched his fists, and twitched more violently.

"Yes, it's all yours, Ruck," Rhianna soothed. "I promise, none of us want to take anything from you."

He grew still. "It was all here when Ruck arrived. Bits of things, but only bits. The crawlers took the rest. They takes things of steel and things of paper. They takes the shinies and the words. They bring things to the great nest, the nest they makes for the eggs. They puts the shinies inside, they do."

"Paper and words?" Oghren arched a brow. "That sounds like someone was taking notes. And look at the marks on the floor. There were a lot of people here once, and not long ago. My guess is this bone-picker is living in Branka's old camp. She must have been here, and it must have been her papers taken by the spiders. Nothing that fragile would be left from the old thaig." He paused. "We've got to search this place. Branka would have kept journals, papers, maps. Maybe some of that stuff is still here."

He walked over to a three-legged desk, and pulled out one of its drawers.

"No no no no no!" Ruck screamed, and began to twitch almost uncontrollably. "No! Those are Ruck's things. No papers. No books. The crawlers took all the words!"

Finding nothing inside, Oghren tossed the drawer to one side, and pulled out another. Ruck screamed even louder.

"Oghren," Rhianna implored, "Please! You're making things worse."

The dwarf turned to face her. "This is why we came here. To find Branka. I'm not going to take that taint-addled maniac's word for it that nothing of hers is here!"

"Look around," Daveth said. "I really don't think there are any books or papers here. It's all broken down junk."

He was right. Not a single scrap of paper, or book, or scroll was to be seen, and there weren't really any places where such things might be tucked away. Unless Ruck had some secret cache . . .

"Are you sure the spiders took all of the papers?" Rhianna kept her tone as smooth, and gentle as possible. "Or perhaps you put some of them away, for safe-keeping? We wouldn't want to take them from you. We'd just like to look them, for a minute, that's all."

"The crawlers took them all. No words. No shinies. Nothing can be kept safe here, not Ruck, not anything else."

Rhianna turned to Oghren. "I really don't think there's anything here."

"Fine," he scoffed. To Ruck, "How long have you been here? When did you arrive?"

Ruck retreated into the corner.

"Ruck? It's all right," Rhianna said. "Will you please tell us how long you've been here?"

"In the dark? Ruck does not know how long he has been in the dark. No nights. No days. No time. Ruck got lost, and the warriors left. Then, the dark ones came and Ruck kept to the shadows. They don't look in the shadows, not if you're quiet. Not if you eat their flesh. Then the dark ones think you're one of them. They leave you alone. But now they're gone."

"The dark ones?" Leliana's voice was hushed. "Does he mean the darkspawn?"

"Yeah, that's what he means," Oghren replied. "Word has it you can only survive down here by eating dead darkspawn. 'Cept no one can do that and remain sane, if you know what I mean."

"What? They eat darkspawn?" Alistair asked. "Surely there must be some other kind of food down here. Those deep stalkers, for example. Or nugs."

"They don't eat 'em for food," Oghren explained. "They do it because it brings the taint. Sure, it turns their brains to sewage - as you can see for yourself - but it hides them from the darkspawn. Like I said, only way to survive down here."

"Oh, that's disgusting!" Leliana said. "I wonder how long he has been down here."

"Five years," Rhianna murmured. "If he is, indeed, the son of the woman I spoke with in Orzammar."

Ruck seemed not to be paying attention to the conversation. He'd wrapped his arms around himself, and rocked back and forth, muttering softly.

"Thunder humper." Oghren let out a breath. "Hard to imagine anyone surviving on his own five days down here, let alone five years. But he can't have been in the thaig all this time. Branka only left Orzammar two years ago."

"Probably he wandered around a while, before finding his way here," Faren suggested.

"Ruck?" Rhianna had another question for him. "You said that they're gone. The dark ones? What do you mean they're gone? Do you know where the dark ones went?"

He flinched at the sound of his name, and stopped rocking. "Ruck thinks they went south, pretty lady. Far, far to the south. That is where the dark master calls them with his beautiful voice."

Alistair leaned closer. "He's talking about the archdemon, isn't he?"

"After the dark master awoke," Ruck continued, "he called his children and they all went. Ruck wanted to go and gaze upon his beauty. You should go, too, pretty lady. You can hear him singing. Once you take in the darkness, you not miss the light so much. You know this, pretty lady. Ruck sees you. He sees the darkness inside of you. You can hear them sing, too, in your dreams."

Something uncomfortable settled at the base of her spine. Could this man sense the darkspawn blood inside of her? And what did he know of her dreams?

"Where is the dark master now?" she asked.

"He stopped calling," Ruck said in a wistful voice. "Ruck wished to go see him, but Ruck, no . . . no. Ruck is a coward. Not brave like pretty lady. Now, all that remains are the crawlers. They used to eat the smallest dark ones. Now the crawlers go hungry."

The spiders. Yes, they'd seemed very hungry, indeed. How had Ruck survived being eaten? The taint couldn't hide him from the spiders, could it? Perhaps he just stayed in here. But that didn't explain why the spiders didn't come in after him. Perhaps they were afraid of the firelight.

"Is there anything we can do for him?" Rhianna asked the dwarves. "Any way he could be . . . cured?"

"Not as far as I know," Faren said.

"Once a person gets the taint, there's no getting it back out again," Oghren said gruffly.

"It's possible, sometimes, to cure humans who've been tainted," Alistair offered. "By putting them through the Joining. Which, of course, doesn't exactly remove the taint. But even if that would work on someone who'd been tainted this long, I don't know how to perform the ritual."

So, it seemed that Ruck was doomed to remain down here, alone, in the dark. Perhaps she should draw her sword, and put him out of his misery. Wouldn't that be kinder?

But what of the woman she had prayed beside in Orzammar?

"Is your mother called Filda?" she asked.

Ruck waved his hands in the air, and shuffled backwards, his head jerking to the side. "No no no no no no! No Filda. No mother. No warm blankets and stew and pillow and soft words! Ruck doesn't deserve good memories. No no no no no!"

"Of course you deserve good memories," Rhianna said softly. "You've done nothing wrong, Ruck. You just did what you had to do to survive. And your mother is so worried about you. She misses you, and prays for you every day. Don't you want to go back to her?"

"No! No no no no! Ruck can never go back. Not to the light and the voices. Ruck belongs to the dark now!"

"Then at least I can tell your mother you're alive."

"No!" he shouted. "She cannot . . . she remembers a boy, a little boy, with bright eyes and a hammer and she cannot see this. Swear - promise, vow - that you won't tell! Tell the mother Ruck is dead. He's dead and his bones are rotting in the crawlers' webs and she should never look again."

"You would rather her think you died down here?"

"Yes, tell her Ruck is dead. Swear it!"

This, however, Rhianna could not promise.

If it were Fergus - if someone had news about him - if he were dead, or even something even worse than death - she would want to know the truth.

"Don't worry, Ruck. Don't worry about your mother. I'll tell her something that will ease her mind."

"Pretty lady is like Mother, yes. Too good, too pretty for the darkness. Pretty lady should leave the darkness, before it is too late. Before the darkness in her grows, and she becomes like the dark ones. Before they can't tell her apart from themselves."

The trickle of fear crept higher up her spine. What did he mean by that? Surely, it was just the madness talking. It couldn't be possible for her to become so much like a darkspawn that they couldn't tell her apart from themselves.

Except she'd dreamt that, hadn't she? The very first night after her Joining. She was a darkspawn, and Duncan was, as well . . .

With a deep breath, she pushed those thoughts away.

"Don't worry, Ruck. I'll be leaving the darkness. As soon as I possibly can." She paused. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us? Back to the city?"

"No no no no no. Ruck must stay in the darkness, and not remember. Ruck must stay with the bits and the shinies and not remember. No remembering. Ruck will stay here."

‹›‹O›‹›

In the end, they left Ruck to his fate, and to the life he had carved out for himself in the thaig. Rhianna couldn't bring herself to kill him, and he clearly didn't want to return to Orzammar. So, they bid him farewell, and went back into the thaig to look for any evidence of Branka they might have missed.

Soon, they'd searched the entire thaig.

"Nothing." Oghren crossed his arms in front of his chest. "No sign of Branka, and nothing that looked like a nest. I know she was here. She must have left  _some_  clue about where she went when she left. Why can't we  _find_  it?"

"I hate to suggest this," Jowan said, "but that Ruck fellow did say something about the spiders having carried away her papers. I can't think of many things I'd like less, but maybe we should be looking for their nest?"

"You're right," Alistair said. "There's not anything I'd like less, at the moment." He paused. "But . . . it's a reasonable suggestion."

"Other than the way we came in," Faren said, looking at the map he'd been making notations on throughout their journey, "there are only two roads that lead out of the thaig. One of them must be the way she went. Look here." He spread the map out flat on the ground so everyone could see. "This one," he pointed, "appears to head north and west. Back under Ferelden."

Northwest? Most likely, that was the tunnel that had brought Loghain and Maric here from the Coastlands. If she was right, then that same tunnel could lead them out of the Deep Roads, and back into Ferelden again, perhaps in just a few days of travel. They could be done with the horrors of being underground, done with Bhelen and these damned dwarven politics. Back on the surface, breathing in the fresh air. They weren't far from the surface right now - the shafts in the ceiling proved that. The way out might be very close, indeed.

"The other would take us east," Faren finished, tracing his finger along this second possible route.

"East," Oghren said. "Bownammar's to the east. I'd bet my left stone that's where Branka was headed next."

Of course, he'd suggest going the other way. Going deeper into these Maker-damned tunnels.

Not that there was any reason she had to follow Oghren's suggestion. She could easily come up with an argument to justify going the other route - the spiders could be living in either direction. Or both. She could insist that they travel northwest, and, well, if the path happened to lead to the surface . . .

Except she needed the support of the dwarves. If she returned to the surface now, and abandoned this search for Branka, surely she'd never get the help the Wardens needed to end the Blight.

"All right," she agreed. "We'll take the road to the east."

In just a very few minutes, it looked as though they were on the right track. The tunnel they'd followed opened up into another cavern, not quite as large as the thaig, but still impressive in size. It was difficult to tell if this had been part of the thaig once upon a time, or just a natural cavern. Either way, it was now solely the domain of the spiders. They clicked and chattered overhead, and she looked up to see a dense network of crisscrossed webs, so many that the roof of the cavern was obscured from view.

Maker. How were they going to kill all these spiders?

Loghain had set the webs alight, hadn't he? That would certainly be effective, but if there were papers here, papers that might lead them to Branka, they couldn't take the chance of them being burned along with the spiders.

A stone bridge crossed over a deep crevice in the rock; that seemed as good a place as any to make a stand.

"Let's try and defend the bridge," she said to the others. "Alistair, Faren, Oghren and Sten, you come across with me. Everyone else, hang back and attack at a distance. We'll just fight them as they come, and we can retreat back across the bridge if too many of them come at us at once."

Before the five of them had barely made it to the far end of the bridge, the first of the spiders attacked.

‹›‹O›‹›

Afterwards, Rhianna remembered little of the battle, except that it seemed to go on and on and on. Spiders ran at them on the ground, and streamed down from above, attacking without mercy. Near the end, when they'd moved off of the bridge and into the cavern itself, one spider was larger than the others, and far more difficult to kill. The Spider Queen that Rhianna had envisioned when she was five years old.

Fortunately, no one had received an injury beyond Wynne and Jowan's ability to heal, and while the mages tended to wounds, Rhianna and Oghren had a look around at the cavern.

Near where they'd killed the queen, there did appear to be some sort of nest, and a cache of human goods piled together. Buried within was a journal. Its cover was battered and torn, but most of the pages were still intact, and Oghren confirmed that it was, indeed, written by Branka.

The final few pages were of the greatest interest:

_We found evidence today that the Anvil of the Void was not built in the Ortan Thaig. We will go south, to the Dead Trenches. The Anvil is somewhere beyond. My soldiers tell me I am mad, that the Dead Trenches are crawling with darkspawn, that we will surely die before we find the Anvil . . . if we find it. I leave this here in case they're right. If I die in the Trenches, perhaps someone can yet walk past my corpse and retrieve the Anvil. For if it remains lost, so do we all._

_If I have not returned and Oghren yet lives, tell him . . . No, what I have to say should be for his ears alone. This is my farewell._

Oghren grinned. "Branka was thinking about me! I knew she still cared. The old softy!"

"The Dead Trenches." Alistair enunciated each word slowly. "That doesn't sound very inviting, if you know what I mean."

"Heh," Oghren chuckled. "That's because it's not. Remember when I told you about Bownammar? The city Caridin built? Well, that's where we're going. Bownammar, only it's called the Dead Trenches now because they say the darkspawn nest there, whole herds of 'em. It's the last place on earth any sane person would want to go, but if Branka went there, that's where we're going."

Rhianna should have felt more hopeful about things - they'd finally found evidence that they were on Branka's trail - but instead, dread settled in her stomach. Dread, at the thought of going even deeper into the earth, farther away from Orzammar. Farther from the surface. From the sunshine. Every day they spent down here wore away at her nerves. How much more of this could she bear?

But what else was there to do, but follow the trail Branka had left? She'd agreed to do this, after all.

"Let's camp here tonight," she said. "And we'll head for the Dead Trenches in the morning."

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Yarnandtea, Kenedii, and KatDancer.


	45. The Maiden of Calabria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions spend a night in Ortan Thaig.

__**5 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Ortan Thaig** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

"So." Oghren belched and thumped himself on the chest. "We're heading for Bownammar after all. Sodding wonderful." He took a drink from his flask. "Eh, I suppose there's no use in complaining, though. We're hot on Branka's trail now, and it is the city Caridin built, so it makes sense the Anvil would be there."

Rather than sleep amidst the corpses of the countless spiders they'd killed, the companions had returned to Ortan Thaig to set up their camp. Now, having eaten their 'evening' meal, everyone sat around a small campfire - the best they could manage with things they'd scavenged from the spiders' lair. Only Zevran and Daveth were absent; they'd returned to the lair to see if any treasures had escaped their notice on the first search of the area.

"I still don't quite understand about this anvil," Leliana said. "It was used to make golems? But how?"

"No one knows," Oghren replied. "Every golem who ever ranged across the empire was hammered on the steel of that anvil, but no one ever knew exactly how they were made, 'cept Caridin himself. But Branka was sure  _she_ could figure it out. Knowing Branka, she was probably right."

"It must be some sort of magic," Jowan mused. "Although I don't know of any magic that could make stone come to life."

"How could it be magic?" Wynne leaned forward. "Dwarves aren't connected to the Fade, and can't perform magic of any sort." She turned to Oghren. "Isn't that right?"

Oghren's brow creased. "You're asking me about magic? How should I know? I mean, sure, that's what they say. Dwarves are immune to magic. Something to do with lyrium, but I never really gave it much thought. Don't have the first idea how golems are made, either. Never really cared."

Morrigan turned her gaze on the dwarf. "You never cared?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Even when your  _wife_  told you she wanted to find this artifact, you couldn't be bothered to so much as feign interest in the subject?" She laughed. "And you wonder why she left you behind."

Oghren growled, and muttered something that sounded like, "constipated, moss-licking bronto." Then, he turned to Faren. "So, what's your story, anyway? How'd a duster end up running with the Grey Wardens?"

Faren gave Oghren a look through narrowed eyes. "Oh, that's right. You weren't there when the Wardens took out the carta, were you?" He shrugged. "It started with a Proving match that I was asked to fix, and ended with the Wardens breaking me out of the carta prison."

"Oh, yes," Leliana said. "I remember you saying as much on the night we first met, but you did not tell the whole story."

"There's not much to tell, really. Beraht - he was head of the carta before Jarvia - he and his cronies had bet a lot of money on the outcome of the Proving. So, I was supposed to slip a little something into the water of the guy who was favored to win, so Beraht's man - a guy named Everd - would win instead. Only Everd was dead drunk. Well, not dead enough, as it turned out, but he was in no condition to fight. This put me between a rock and a hard place; Beraht would have my head if the other guy won. So I did the only thing I could think of: I put on Everd's armor and went into the ring to fight Mainar myself. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Or, at least not a really bad idea. So, I got in the arena."

"Why," Jowan began, "do I have the feeling this is about to get very interesting?"

"That's one word for it," Faren grinned.

"Let me guess," Morrigan said. "You lost the bout, and your true identity was revealed?"

"Hah! Hardly! I won that bout. And the next one, and the next. It wasn't until I was about to fight the final combatant that there was a bit of a hiccup. Ridiculous timing, really; if I'd won just one more fight, that would have been it! 'Everd' would have been the champion of all Orzammar, and no one would have ever been the wiser. But, it turned out that Everd hadn't been drunk enough. He woke up, and wandered out onto the field shouting about his armor, and asking when was it his turn to fight."

"Ouch," Alistair said.

"You got that right," Faren said. "So, they pulled off my helmet, and that's when things kind of went downhill. It's not easy to hide these tattoos, after all." He gestured toward his face. "Come to think of it," he glanced at Rhianna," there were Grey Wardens there that day, watching the Proving, and one of them tried to speak up for me, but I was arrested anyway."

"Arrested?" Leliana frowned. "I don't understand. I can see why Everd was upset, but that hardly seems a reason for them to put you in jail. After all, you had won three of your battles. Surely, that must have been worth something."

"Winning three battles would be worth something," Oghren began, "if casteless were allowed to fight in the Proving. Which they aren't. It's an offense to the Ancestors, punishable by death."

"By death?" Now, Leliana sounded truly shocked.

"By death," Faren confirmed. "So, as soon as they saw my brands, the place went mad. The entire Proving was declared invalid, the Assembly called for an investigation, and I was thrown in jail. Beraht managed to break me out - he had those sorts of connections - but of course he only did that so he could throw me in the carta's prison until he decided what to do with me. Apparently, my little escapade cost him a lot of coin. Eventually, he decided to kill me, but me and my friend Leske managed to get the jump on him and kill him first. For about five minutes, I thought everything was going to work out – even thought about taking over the carta myself – but then Jarvia turned up and threw us right back in a cell." He paused. "Not really sure what she intended to do with us. It's possible she'd forgotten we were down there. The only thing I knew for sure is that she couldn't let us out. She told everyone that  _she_  killed Beraht, and it would have tarnished her 'spotless' reputation if the truth came out."

"So, what are you going to do now," Leliana asked. "Once we return to the city, I mean."

"What am I going to do?" He laughed. "I don't know. I hadn't really thought that far ahead yet. Do what I can to take care of Rica, of course, although it looks like she might end up being the one to take care of me, if Bhelen's being straight with her."

Movement in Rhianna's peripheral vision caught her attention; it was Zevran, as he sat close beside her. Daveth, too, joined the circle around the campfire.

"Is everything all right,  _Bella_?" Zevran spoke softly, as though he didn't want his words to carry. "You look . . . tense."

Did she? No doubt she did. She  _was_  tense, just from being underground.

"I . . . no, I'm fine." She gave what she hoped was a reasonable smile. "Did you and Daveth find anything interesting?"

"Funny you should ask, for indeed we did," he replied, in his normal tone of voice. "We found this!" He held up a guitar. "Miraculously, all of its strings are still intact. Such a thing seems impossible, but I will not question a gift like this when it drops into my lap."

"A guitar! That's wonderful," Leliana said. "Do you play, Zevran?"

"Indeed, I do." He plucked at the strings, and fiddled with the knobs at the far end of the neck. "And it seems to me that some music is just what we need to drive away the dreary atmosphere in this abandoned thaig."

"Yes!" Leliana clapped her hands. "A song would be just the thing. Will you sing something in Antivan for us?"

"You would like to hear something in Antivan?" He turned to Rhianna. "And would this meet with your approval, as well?"

"Of course," Rhianna agreed. "The language is beautiful when sung. Oriana used to sing lullabies in Antivan to my nephew."

"Very well. Something in Antivan, then." He made a final adjustment to one of the strings, and then settled his fingers in place. "This will not be a lullaby, though. If I am going to sing in Antivan, it must be a love song."

He strummed a few chords - the sound was warm and cheery - and then began to pick out the accompaniment. After softly clearing his throat, he began to sing.

_Nina ti vitti all'acqua chi lavavi_  
 _E lu me cori si jinchiu d'amuri._  
 _Mentre li panni a la sipala 'ampravi  
_ _Io t'arrobbai lu megghiu muccaturi._

_Calabrisella mia, Calabrisella mia,_  
 _Calabrisella mia, Facimmu amuri_  
 _Tirullalleru, lalleru lallà  
_ _'sta Calabrisella muriri mi fa!_

_Quandu pe' studiu jivi a la cittàdi_  
 _Bedda non vitti a nudda com'a tia_  
 _Pensai cu pena a s'occhi nnamurati  
_ _E 'nta stu muccaturi ti ciangìa._

_Calabrisella mia, sta vucca d'incantari_  
 _Calabrisella mia, fammi baciati._  
 _Tirullalleru, lalleru lallà  
_ _'sta Calabrisella muriri mi fa!_

_Mo chi di la città jeu su turnatu_  
 _Me guardi e me sorridi malandrina_  
 _Dassaria tuttu lu meu dutturato  
_ _Sulu p'aviri a tia sempri vicina._

_Calabrisella mia, daria la me vita_  
 _Calabrisella mia sulu pe tia._  
 _Tirullalleru, lalleru lallà_  
 _'sta Calabrisella muriri mi fa!  
_ _'sta Calabrisella muriri mi fa!_

"That was wonderful," Leliana exclaimed when the song ended, and the final chords had faded away. "But you must tell us the story.  _Calabrisella_? What does that mean?"

" _Calabrisella_  means 'the maiden of Calabria.' Calabria, as you may know, is what Antiva was once called, many ages ago. The song tells the story of a fellow who comes upon a young woman washing clothes. He becomes immediately smitten with her, and steals her best handkerchief. Sadly for him, she wants nothing to do with him, and he goes away to the city to become a doctor. But all the while he is gone, he thinks of her - no doubt while crying into the handkerchief - and when he returns, once again he tries to woo her."

Leliana leaned forward. "What happens in the end? Does she fall in love with him?"

"Well, the song doesn't tell us one way or another. He sings over and over that his love for her will kill him, if it remains unrequited, but it is left to our own imaginations whether she falls in love with him, or whether he will die a miserable death, alone from his passion. Very dramatic, I know, but this is the way of things in Antiva." Zevran leaned back. "So, who will be next?" He turned to Rhianna. "What about you,  _Bella_? Are you going to grace us with a song this evening?"

"Me?" Rhianna blinked. "Oh, no. I don't sing. Not really."

"What?" Alistair's eyes were wide. "Of course you do. You sing beautifully. You sang that song about Andraste, the night before the battle. Everyone in the king's camp stopped what they were doing and gathered around to listen."

"It's true," Daveth agreed.

Rhianna felt heat rise up in her cheeks. "That was . . . well, sort of special occasion. As a rule, I don't sing in front of other people. And I definitely don't play the guitar."

"Well. Let us do something about that." Zevran stood, and offered Rhianna a hand, as though he meant to help her to her feet. "Come. We shall sit over there, and I will give you a lesson."

"What?"

"A lesson. On how to play the guitar. Then, you will not have any excuse when we ask you to provide entertainment for these long nights." He reached down and grasped her hand, and tugged her to her feet.

"Oh . . . well, all right. I suppose."

She followed Zevran to a spot just barely out of earshot of the others. When she sat down, he put the guitar in her hands and settled himself behind her, straddling her with his legs.

"Trust me," he murmured in her ear. "This is much easier than it looks. You will be playing beautifully in no time at all."

"If you say so," she chuckled.

"Now, what song would you like to learn? Something you already know how to sing, preferably."

"Um, I don't know? I know a lot of Fereldan songs. My Nan used to sing me to sleep most nights when I was small."

"Ah! I have an idea, then. Do you know the song that begins, 'Are you going to Denerim Fair?'"

"Of course I know that song. Every child in Ferelden knows that song by the age of five."

"Wonderful. Then it will be a good place to start. It only has four chords, all of them easy, and two of them are almost identical to one another. Now, sit up straight, and hold the guitar like so." He adjusted the instrument in her hands. "Don't worry about your right hand just yet. Let us figure out how to make the notes with your left hand, first." He took her left hand in his, and brought it up to the neck of the guitar. "I will put your fingers in the right place. This first chord is called 'a minor,' and I think you'll find it very easy to play. Your index finger goes here." He placed her finger on the second string up from the bottom. "And these go here, and here, as well." He guided fingers to the third and fourth strings. "Now . . . strum with your right hand."

She ran her thumb across the strings, but the sound that resulted was muted and dull.

"That sounds awful," she complained.

"Of course it does. It was your first try. Here." Again, he reached for her hand, and gently repositioned her fingers. "You want to keep your fingers rounded, like this, so that each finger only hits one string. And, press slightly harder."

This time, when she strummed, it sounded better. Warmer, with more resonance.

"I did it!"

"Yes, that was very good. Now, let's learn another chord. This one is called 'G.'" Again, he positioned her fingers, and she was only slightly distracted by his breath on her cheek.

He continued to adjust her fingers until that chord, too, sounded nice. Then, he made her play the "a minor" again, and it sounded so horrible they had to start again from scratch.

We he tried to teach her a third chord – "C" - she stopped him. "I don't know if I can do much more of this. The tips of my fingers hurt, like they're being stabbed by little daggers."

"Oh, I apologize for this! I should have thought about that. The strings do bite into your fingers at first, but I promise that after a very short time - within a week - you will start to build up callouses, and it will no longer hurt."

"Fair enough, but can we be done for tonight?"

"As you wish." He took the guitar from her, and set it down on the ground nearby, but did not move away from her. Instead, he scooted closer, cradling her body with his own. He took her left hand, and, one by one, gently kissed the tip of each of her sore fingers.

"Zevran! What are you doing?" Heat raced across her cheeks, and her breath came a bit faster. "I told you the other day, I don't intend to lay with you. Have you forgotten already?"

"I have not forgotten." His lips brushed against her ear. "And I will respect your wishes. I have no intention of trying to convince you to lay with me tonight." He kissed another of her fingers.

Rhianna giggled. "Then what  _are_  you doing?"

"I thought perhaps this would make you forget the soreness?" He shrugged. "But, I have another reason as well. Don't look, but the others have been watching us, on and off, since we left the fire."

"Watching? Well, wouldn't that be a reason not to carry on like this? They'll get the wrong idea."

"Ah, but that is exactly what I am hoping,  _Bella_. Since you are not interested, I have set my sights elsewhere." He glanced at the others, and she followed his gaze to where Leliana and Daveth sat. "Now, to anyone watching, you and I have spent the past few minutes flirting quite shamelessly. Whispering and laughing together. I'm sure it looks quite . . . intimate. And sometimes, a tiny bit of jealousy can be a great motivator. An encouragement to take action before the opportunity is lost."

"You're trying to make Leliana jealous?"

"Not exactly." He paused. "You are on the right track, but it is Daveth whose eye I hope to catch."

"Oh." She paused. "So you're . . . interested in him."

"I am."

"And you think he might be interested in you, that way?"

"I do not yet know for certain, but I am hopeful."

"But what if it backfires? Won't he think you're interested in me? He might give up on anything between the two of you before it's even begun."

"This is a risk I am taking, it is true. But if that happens, I hope that you will find my attentions so enjoyable that you will change your mind." He winked.

"You're incorrigible," she laughed.

"I have been told this before. But you can't fault a man for trying, can you?"

"No, I suppose not." She leaned back into his warmth. It was nice to be snuggled up against him like this, for a little while at least. Not that she was about to admit it out loud.

"Did you find anything else interesting in the spiders' lair?"

"A few trinkets, but nothing that looked to be particularly valuable. Except . . . " he reached behind him, and pulled out something that had been tucked into his trousers. "Except for this." He held it up for her to see.

It was a dagger. A beautiful dagger, with a carved ebony handle, and a wavy blade that shone dark purple in the dim light.

"It reminds me of a rose's thorn," Zevran continued. "The sort of weapon an assassin would carry. A dagger worthy of slitting the throat of an empress, or being lodged in the heart of a king." He held it by the blade, and offered it to Rhianna. "See how it feels in your hand."

She grasped the handle, which was slightly cool to the touch, and bounced the dagger gently. It was weighted perfectly, as though it had been crafted just for her.

"It's beautiful." She flipped it around, and slashed downward through the air. "I've rarely held anything that felt quite so comfortable."

"That is what I thought when I saw it – that this weapon was meant for you."

"What?" She shook her head, and tried to hand the dagger back to Zevran. "No, I don't need it. I already have a dagger."

That much was true; it was strapped to her leg even now, although her stomach felt heavy at the thought. She still carried the red steel dagger Loghain had given her all those years ago. She loved the weapon - after carrying it for such a long time, it felt like a part of her – but in recent days, she had hesitated to use it. The association with Loghain was too strong, and now, too painful. It would be good for her to find a new dagger, one she could use without being reminded of Loghain.

Still, this dagger Zevran had found looked expensive.

"Really, I don't need it." She pressed the handle into the palm of his hand. "You should keep it for yourself, or sell it when we get back to the city."

"No." He pushed it away, gently. "I have no need for a dagger, and I really do believe this weapon should be with you. Please. It would make me happy if you would allow me to give you this gift."

She looked at the dagger. It really was one of the most beautiful weapons she had ever seen, and it felt marvelous in her hand.

"All right. Thank you." She kissed him on the cheek, and tucked it into her belt. "I will be able to use it. Thank you."

"You are most welcome,  _Bella_. Now," he pushed himself to his feet, and offered her a hand. "I am going to ready myself for sleep."

She allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Of course. I should do the same, soon. It's getting late. At least I think it is; it's so hard to tell the time down here." She put a hand on his arm. "Will you give me another lesson tomorrow? I think I might enjoy playing the guitar, especially once my fingers stop hurting."

"Yes, I will give you a lesson every night for as long as you wish. I suspect that eventually you will have to ask me to stop. As you will learn, I can be a hard task-master. But so long as you wish to continue, I will give you all the help you need." He leaned close, and kissed her cheek. "Good night,  _Bella_."

"Good night, Zevran."

As he headed toward his bedroll and pack, Rhianna returned to the fire.

"So," Jowan asked. "You're learning to play the guitar?"

"Apparently so," she replied. "Zevran didn't seem willing to take no for an answer. I don't mind though. I liked it, and he's going to give me a lesson every night. Although the tips of my fingers are sore after just those few minutes."

"Even now?" One corner of Leliana's mouth curved upward. "Surely they feel better after the special care Zevran gave them?"

Maker. So, the others  _had_  noticed.

Rhianna laughed, and glanced at Daveth. "Zervran was just playing around. He says that over time, callouses will build up, and the strings won't hurt my fingers at all, then."

"He is right about that," Leliana said. She rubbed at the fingers on her left hand. "I used to have callouses like that, but they have faded."

"You play the guitar, as well?" Jowan asked.

"No, not the guitar, but I play the lute." She sighed. "It is a shame Zevran did not find one of those as well; I would enjoy being able to play duets again."

Rhianna pulled her new dagger from her belt, and ran her finger along the blade. It was rather dull – hardly a surprise considering it had been down here for Maker-knows how long – but nothing that a few minutes with a whetstone wouldn't fix.

"So, Leliana." Alistair's voice was just a bit too loud. "I'm wondering something."

"Something about playing the lute?"

"What? Oh, no. Not that. Something else."

"Something else? What is it?"

"What exactly does a woman see in a man like him?"

"A man like him?" Leliana arched a brow. "Are you talking about Zevran?"

"Yes. Zevran."

The mischievous smile returned. "Well, let's see. He's quite handsome, and reasonably charming. There is definitely something appealing about him. The way he smiles. The lilt to his voice. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. It's just . . . doesn't he seem a bit too much? The hair, the clothing, the accent . . ."

"A bit too much  _what_?" Leliana laughed. "Do you have a problem with Zevran?"

"Beyond the fact that he's an assassin who tried to kill us?" Alistair sounded petulant. "No . . . not really. I guess I was just wondering if women . . . go for that sort of thing."

Apparently, Leliana wasn't the only one who had paid attention. But why would Alistair care? Obviously, he wasn't interested in Zevran, romantically, so why did it matter?

"Ah." Leliana bit back an even bigger grin. "Do women find men like Zevran attractive? This is what you want to know?"

"Exactly."

"Well, you must remember that all women are different, Alistair. We have different tastes and preferences. But I would say that, in general, yes. Zevran is the sort of man many women would find attractive. And some men, as well."

"Really?" Alistair's tone was flat, and his eyes flitted to Rhianna's face, and then quickly away again.

Oh.

Was this why Alistair cared? Was he jealous because Zevran had been flirting with Rhianna?

Except that made no sense at all. They'd argued so much, over so many things. He couldn't possibly be interested in her  _that_  way.

But why else would he care whether or not 'women' found Zevran attractive?

Maker. This was a bit . . . awkward.

Rhianna stood, needing to put some distance between herself and . . . everyone else.

"I'm going to . . . walk by the river for a few minutes, before I try and get to sleep."

She walked away from the fire, and turned onto the bridge nearby. Halfway across, she sat on the edge and dangled her legs above the water.

The river was strangely beautiful, even though it was nothing more than a stream of dark blue water flowing through a darker channel in the rocks. Perhaps its appeal lay in the fact that there was no denying it was a river. With the water running past, it was almost possible to pretend she wasn't in a cavern underground.

Almost.

She felt all right just now, with the river, and a shaft overhead that let in fresh air from the surface. But tomorrow, they would head deeper still into this blasted underground that made her skin crawl, and left a weight in her stomach that never entirely eased. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake her fear. The fear of being trapped down here forever.

It was ridiculous. There wasn't any real danger of the tunnels collapsing. There just wasn't. They'd stood for countless ages, and there was no reason to think they'd collapse at the precise moment she passed through. The dwarves certainly weren't afraid, and they should know better than anyone whether or not the tunnels were safe. But no matter how many times she tried to tell herself this, it made no difference. The anxiety in her chest and her stomach, and the slight aching in her head, refused to diminish.

Wasn't facing one's fears supposed to help relieve them?

Well, it wasn't working.

Like that business earlier, when she'd broken down after they arrived in the thaig. When she'd started crying – out of the blue – about Loghain. That was the worst sort of foolishness. She wasn't even sure why she'd been so upset. Was it his absence from her life, or just the fact that she still cared so much, after all that had happened? Or perhaps it was just that the constant anxiety and dread and vague panic left her nerves so frayed that just about anything could send her over the edge.

Footsteps sounded behind her; she turned to see Alistair approach.

"Would you . . . um . . . do you mind if I join you? Unless you'd rather be alone?"

She hesitated before answering, "No, I don't mind. You're welcome to sit."

He sat next to her, and stared down into the water, much as she had been doing.

"It's strange, isn't it? A river under the ground? I guess I always thought of the ground beneath my feet as being solid, but it turns out there are all sorts of things down here, aren't there? Cities and caverns and tunnels and rivers. And enormous spiders." He paused. "Strange."

"I suppose it is," she agreed.

He fell silent, and for a few minutes, they watched the river flow past.

Finally, he spoke. "Can I ask you something?"

Oh, Maker. Was he going to ask about Zevran?

"I suppose so."

"When we first arrived in the thaig today, I . . . well, I'm just wondering why you were crying. You said you weren't injured, so you must have been upset about something? What was it?" He paused. "Unless you don't want to talk about it."

Oh. She hadn't expected that at all.

Rhianna glanced over at him. His face was earnest and unsmiling in the dim light.

"I . . . don't mind talking about it." She paused. "I told you that I've known Loghain for years, yes? Well, the first time he and I met was on Satinalia when I was five years old. And on that day - that very first time I ever met him - he told me a story. A story about the Rebellion, and part of it took place right here. Literally, here in Ortan Thaig."

"Really?" His eyes grew wide.

"Yes. It was the best story anyone had ever told me. A glorious adventure, as Cailan put it - he was there, too - about spiders and darkspawn and dwarves. All my life, that day - and Loghain telling me that story - has been one of my very favorite memories. And when we arrived here today, I don't know, it just . . . it just hit me. That the man who told me that story, the man who was a good friend to me for years and years is . . . gone from my life. Forever." She scoffed. "It was a stupid thing to cry about. I think I've just let being underground so long . . . get to me. I really hate being underground."

"I'm not that fond of it myself, to tell you the truth." He let out a breath. "Thanks. Thanks for telling me. I was worried, a bit. I just wanted to make sure nothing was really wrong."

"Thank you. And, no, nothing's really wrong. Just me being foolish, that's all."

"It's not foolish. You've been through a lot lately. I know it must be . . . hard." He paused. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Of course."

"Is there something going on between you and Zevran?"

Oh, Maker. 

"Zevran?"

"Yes. I . . . well, I saw the two of you talking, and I was just wondering. Are you and he . . ."

"Are we what?"

"Are you . . . you know, um . . . involved? You know . . . romantically?"

"I . . ." She bit back a smile. "No. I'm not involved with Zevran. He's going to teach me to play the guitar, that's all. And he is something of a flirt, but it doesn't mean anything."

"I see."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. A tiny smile had appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Maker, did he really care? Perhaps he was just worried that she was going to get hurt - Zevran had tried to kill them, after all. But what if he wondered for a different reason?

"Look," he began. "I know you and I haven't always seen eye to eye on everything. But I want you to know that I'm . . . well . . . I'm grateful for you. Grateful to be fighting the Blight with you. I can't imagine what it would be like if I had to do this on my own, or with someone else. I'm glad you're . . . you. And not . . . some other Grey Warden." He exhaled audibly, and rolled his eyes. "That was awkward, wasn't it? It sounded much better in my head. What I'm trying to say is that . . . well . . . I just wanted to tell you how much I . . . well . . . thanks, that's all. I can't imagine having gotten this far without you."

He looked into her face, and gave a weak smile.

"Thank you, Alistair. And I . . . I'm glad to be doing this with you, as well."

It was true. Even though he tried her patience at times, she was grateful to have him, as well as Daveth. The thought of having to face any of this on her own was almost unbearable.

The smile widened, and reached his eyes. "Good. I mean, thanks."

He looked away, and drummed on the stone with his fingers.

Was he nervous? He'd asked about Zevran after all. But what did that mean? If, indeed, it meant anything at all.

She fought back a yawn. In truth, she didn't have the energy to think about that right now. Best not to think of anything at all.

"It is strange," she murmured. "That there's a river underground. I still haven't gotten used to the idea. Not really."

They sat in silence together for a while longer, watching as the river flowed past.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta reader, Amanda Kitswell, and to my lovely reviewers: KatDancer, Yarnandtea, Vicky79, and Kenedii.
> 
> You can listen to Zevran's song on YouTube by googling "calabrisella mia michael castaldo" – this version is slightly more upbeat than Zevran's, and only the first verse of lyrics are the same, but it will give you an idea about the tune. Here is a translation of the song (my apologies if it's not completely accurate; I don't speak Italian. I just grabbed this off the internet). :D
> 
> "Nina, I saw you at the fountain washing  
> And my heart was filled with love.  
> While you were hanging the laundry on the hedge  
> I stole the most beautiful handkerchief
> 
> Calabrisella mia, Calabrisella mia,  
> Calabrisella mia, let us love  
> Tirullalleru, lalleru lallà  
> This Calabrisella makes me die!
> 
> When I went to study in the city  
> None I saw as beautiful as you  
> I thought with pain to your loving eyes  
> And in this handkerchief I cried.
> 
> Calabrisella mia, sta vucca d'incantari  
> Calabrisella mia, let me kiss you.  
> Tirullalleru, lalleru lallà  
> This Calabrisella makes me die!
> 
> Now that I'm back from the city  
> You look at me, naughty, and smile at me  
> I would give all my doctorate  
> Just to have you near!
> 
> Calabrisella mia, I would give my life  
> Calabrisella mia only for you.  
> Tirullalleru, lalleru lallà  
> This Calabrisella makes me die!  
> This Calabrisella makes me die!"


	46. For Eleanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anora plants roses to honor Eleanor Cousland's memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: for information about possible spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition, please scroll to the bottom of the post.

 

__**6 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Denerim Palace** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Trowel in hand, Anora surveyed the garden, and nodded with satisfaction at the spot she had chosen. It was perfect.

As she knelt on the soft dirt, preparing to dig, she winced at a pain in her knee. She shifted herself to one side, and glanced down at the culprit: a half-buried pebble she hadn't noticed before. Its edge was just sharp enough to cut through the fabric of her trousers and pierce her skin; a drop of blood now stained the dark fabric.

"Damn." She sat hard on the ground and pressed her thumb against the wound to staunch the bleeding. It wasn't a serious cut - barely a scratch, really - but her shoulders sagged, and tears welled up in her eyes.

She blinked them back. She wouldn't cry. She  _wouldn't_. This was the worst sort of foolishness, crying at absolutely nothing.

It's just that she was so . . . tired. Tired of hurting, and worrying about the future. Tired of feeling alone in the home she'd once loved. Tired of waking up each morning with a feeling of dread heavy in her belly, a feeling that never fully eased as she went about her days.

Tired of things being so much more difficult than they needed to be.

She was here to fulfill a promise she'd made to herself, but she also relished the chance to spend some time out of doors. It felt good to have the late afternoon sun warm her hair, and to dig her hands into the rich, cool earth. This was exactly where she wanted to be at this moment, but cutting her knee felt like a bad omen. As though something, somewhere wished to discourage her from her task.

More foolishness.

She had come to the palace garden to plant rose bushes. Three of them, in honor of Eleanor Cousland, right beside the roses Anora had planted years before, in honor of her own mother. There was no reason the Maker or Andraste - or any other gods who might be paying attention - would want to stop her in this work.

When Anora had learned of Eleanor's death, on that terrible day when her father had returned from Ostagar, she had sworn to plant roses in the garden, in remembrance of the woman whom Anora had considered a dear friend. A few weeks ago, a merchant had come through from Seheron with a selection of bare root plants carefully wrapped in burlap cloth. Anora had chosen three of them, without even inquiring what color blooms the plants would produce. She liked the idea of having a surprise, when they finally matured and put forth their first flowers after spring's warmth returned.

Planting roses required an element of faith. They looked pitiful now, with their ugly bare roots, and thorny, beheaded stalks devoid of leaves. It was difficult to believe anything beautiful could grow from such a thing. But Anora had faith - great faith - that with nurture and care, they would grow and thrive, and eventually gorgeous flowers would bloom from them. Flowers that would always remind her of Eleanor.

She brushed her hand across the ground. When she was certain no more pebbles lurked where she meant to kneel, she retrieved the trowel, and began to excavate the hole for the first of the plants. She'd had to fight with the servants for the right to do this; her groundskeeper, along with two of her ladies-in-waiting, had argued that the queen should not sully herself in the garden. They wanted to dig the holes for her, but Anora insisted on doing it herself. She wanted to feel the dirt beneath her hands, revel in its damp, rich texture between her fingers. This wasn't work to her; it was more like prayer. In the end, she had ordered everyone away, so she could have a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Now, as she dug in the earth, Eleanor's smiling face swam into Anora's memory. Again, tears came to her eyes, but these she did not resist. In private like this, with no one to see, she could allow herself the permission to grieve. To remember.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Eleanor was gone. Anora often found herself hoping the footman would announce a visit from the teyrna, or for a letter to arrive in that familiar hand. Eleanor had lovely penmanship. Straightforward and legible, not flowery or overdone with curlicues and flourishes. Straightforward, but pretty.

But no letter ever came. There would be no more letters in Eleanor's hand, no more visits. No more comfortable conversations, so many of which had happened in this very garden. Eleanor would not be forgotten, though. Anora would do whatever she could to remember.

To remember the smile that reached all the way up to Eleanor's eyes. The laughter in her voice. The grace with which she walked, with which she spoke, with which she did everything. A grace that seemed to come so naturally to the Teyrna of Highever. How surprised Anora had been to learn that Eleanor was not raised as a member of the nobility; the Dryden family had been stripped of their titles two hundred years before, and Eleanor's father had been a merchant in Amaranthine. Eleanor had spent her childhood milking cows and selling eggs in the market square. Surely, this was proof that nobility had more to do with one's character than it did with any circumstance of birth.

With the back of her wrist, Anora wiped away a tear, and continued to scoop dirt from the ever-widening hole.

Sometimes it seemed she missed Eleanor more than she did Cailan. Anora certainly wasn't glad he was gone, but Cailan's absence didn't leave much of a hole in the fabric of Anora's daily life. Knowing he was dead, yes, that still ached, but she didn't miss  _him -_ his company, his conversation. Those things had stopped bringing her joy some time ago. If anything, it was a relief not to have to laugh at his attempts at humor, or smile when he greeted her with a bit too much warmth in the morning, after having spent a night away from her bed. The palace was much quieter without him, but in some ways, that was a blessing. Something sharp did twist in her belly to think of him. She had loved him - still loved him. And she had hoped that when he returned from Ostagar, perhaps there was still some chance of getting back at least something of the love they had for one another once. If she could just have conceived a child . . .

There was no point on dwelling on such useless thoughts.

With Eleanor, however, there were no regrets to clutter Anora's feelings. Eleanor was just missed. Sorely missed, and the months that had passed since word had reached Anora of tragedy hadn't dulled the pain. It was still raw and fresh every time Anora remembered that Eleanor was dead, along with Bryce and Oriana and Oren. That was the reason - or, one of the reasons, anyway - it was so important her to plant these flowers. Perhaps by focusing her attention on creating this memorial, making an offering of it, almost, she could put to rest the worst of her grieving, and remember only the good times.

She didn't know if it would work. Perhaps she would discover that time was the only thing truly capable of healing her grief. But even if it didn't help ease the pain, she will have enjoyed an afternoon out in the sunshine.

When the hole was approximately two feet across, and nearly as deep, she put down the trowel and picked up the first of the plants. The night before, she'd trimmed away any roots that looked damaged, and soaked the plants in water, so they wouldn't dry out while they were still young and vulnerable to the elements. Judging the height carefully, she held the plant in place with one hand, while she filled in the hole around it with a mixture of garden dirt and compost - a rich, loose soil that would give the young plant the nutrients it needed, and keep the soil soft, so roots could spread more easily. When the roots were covered, she watered it thoroughly. Another layer of soil was added, to fill in areas that had settled from the water. A few more pats with the palms of her hands, to flatten the earth, and she was satisfied. She stood, and eyed it from several angles, to make sure it stood straight.

It did.

Satisfied, she piled a mound of compost over the entire bush, stalks and all, to protect it from the coming frosts of winter. As she straightened again and stood, hands at her hips, to survey her handiwork, footsteps sounded behind her.

Anora turned to see her father approach. In the sunlight, it was easy to see that the past few months and all the horrors they had brought had taken a toll on him. The circles under his eyes were darker than Anora had seen before, and there was a gaunt quality to his cheeks, as though he'd lost weight. She hadn't seen him look this exhausted since . . . well, since the week he'd spent nursing Rhianna Cousland back to health, when she'd had the plague. That had been a horrible week; Anora had spent most of it terrified that her father was going to die, as her mother had just months before. And the thought of Rhianna being so ill was awful, especially so soon after that ordeal in the guard tower.

They never had learned who was responsible for that . . .

She shuddered. What a strange thing to remember now. Or, perhaps not so strange. Anora had long thought back on that as one of the worst, scariest times in her life. It had seemed then that things couldn't possibly get worse. But of course, they could. And they had.

"There you are," he said simply.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm just doing a bit of gardening before the frost hardens the ground."

He eyed the supplies, and the two little burlap wrapped plants that still awaited their new homes.

"Roses?"

"In memory of Eleanor Cousland."

A muscle in his cheek twitched at the mention of her name. He had cared about Eleanor, too.

"Roses. For Eleanor." He nodded. "A fitting memorial."

He fell silent and turned to the west, where the sun was beginning to dip down and approach the horizon. When his silence stretched out for nearly a minute, Anora felt a rush of impatience. She only had a few more hours of daylight. If she wanted to get these roses in the ground today, she needed to get on with it. But she didn't want to just start digging, with her father staring off into the distance nearby.

"Was there something in particular you wanted, Father?"

A shudder ran through him, as though her voice had disturbed some private reverie. "No, not really. I was just . . ."

His voice trailed off, and he fell silent again.

Just what? Lonely? Yes, that seemed likely, and it was also something he wouldn't easily admit out loud.

How hard this must be on him, for Ferelden to be under attack like this. He loved this country fiercely, and had spent his whole life defending her against all foes. Successfully, at that. But the darkspawn were different. This was no straightforward war against an occupying force, nor a matter of being vigilant against spies and assassins. How did you fight a foe that came up out of nowhere, for some unfathomable purpose, and left death and disease in its wake?

Something in her chest ached for him, for what he must be feeling right now. Perhaps he had come out into the garden looking for a few moments of company. Maker knows, he had little enough of that these days. He had never been an outgoing sort, but the relationships he did cultivate were important to him. Relationships with Maric, and Anora's mother. Eleanor, and Uthalas. Rhianna Cousland, when she was younger. Rowan before she was the queen.

That was another mystery: the truth of what had happened between Rowan and Loghain. Although he'd never spoken of the former queen in anything other than a casual way, Anora believed there had been something more between them. There was a look that came into his eyes whenever Rowan's name was mentioned. There were the little things Anora's mother had said - or not said - about the late queen. And Cailan had once told Anora a story that he'd heard from Mother Ailis, a shockingly romantic tale about Loghain and Rowan during the Rebellion. Cailan had scoffed - he couldn't believe that his mother and Loghain could have ever been involved like that. But Anora had come to believe that her father had been in love with Rowan before she was the queen, and she with him.

Anora had no memories of Queen Rowan; Anora had been presented to the queen as a baby only once before being taken back to Gwaren, never to return to Denerim until after the queen's death. By all accounts she had been strong and beautiful, with a lively spirit. She was, however, also betrothed to Maric, who had been Loghain's best friend for years. Try as she might, Anora couldn't quite untangle a plausible story out of the bits and pieces she'd heard. A few times, her curiosity had nearly gotten the best of her, and it had been on the tip of her tongue to ask about it. But she always stopped herself. Her father didn't like to dwell on things from the past, and rarely spoke of his feelings at all.

At any rate, Loghain had cared about Rowan, along with a fairly small list of others. And now all of them were dead, save Rhianna, who might have been better off dead, all things considered. Now, Anora's father seemed to spend more time with Rendon Howe than anyone else.

Just the thought of Howe caused anger to bubble up in Anora's chest. When her father had returned from that miserable parlay at Hafter River, he had announced that he was giving Howe the arling. He hadn't asked Anora's thoughts on the matter; he just announced it as something that had already taken place.

Anora had considered arguing. After all, she was the queen. Cailan's death should have allowed her, finally, to rule unfettered. But her father had named himself regent, and she found herself forced to rule under his auspices, instead of her own. This was not what she wanted. She wanted to be queen, in her own name, but her father refused to even discuss the matter. He always brushed it aside, saying, "there will be time for that when the darkspawn have been defeated."

So, when her father gave the arling to Howe, Anora hadn't even bothered to argue. Yes, if it were up to her - which it should have been - she would have chosen someone else. Anyone else. The time would come when she would make her voice heard on the matter, but she wasn't ready to fight that battle just yet. Besides, there wasn't really anyone else who could easily step into the role. Arl Urien had no relations, other than Vaughan, and any of the people who came to mind to take over the bannric - Teagan Guerrin, or Fergus or Rhianna Cousland - were unavailable. Even Nathaniel Howe might have been considered, had he set foot in Ferelden in recent years. But the Fereldan nobility was stretched thin at present, with those lost at Ostagar. So, Anora had held her tongue. Let Rendon Howe deal with the mess in the Alienage, and the overworked city guard. Let him call himself 'teyrn' if it made him happy.

Either way, Howe was only a temporary problem, whether he knew it or not. As soon as they were through this Blight, she would have ample time to go back and put things right again. And that meant seeing Rendon Howe brought to justice for what he'd done in Highever. Hanged in the palace courtyard and left for the birds to pick at. She would see this done, whether her father agreed or not.

Although she doubted her father would put up any argument when the time came. He seemed to despise Howe as much as Anora did.

Now, her father let out a breath, rather than finish the sentence he had started.

"Just what?" she prompted, aloud.

He regarded her through narrowed eyes. "I just wanted your company. For a few minutes, at least. It seems we're too busy these days to spend much time together."

So, he  _was_ lonely. Rather profoundly so, if he'd sought her out like this, and was willing to admit to it out loud.

"It's true," she agreed. "We haven't had much time lately. I'm glad you found me."

"Good. I wasn't . . ." Again, his voice trailed off, and he gave a small huff, as though annoyed with himself, or perhaps amused.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just glad you don't mind the interruption."

"Of course not."

He remained silent, as he studied Anora's face, a slight frown on his lips. It was an uncomfortable silence, and his scrutiny felt intrusive, so she searched around to a topic of conversation.

"What news have you had? I was told that a messenger arrived earlier today, but I've heard nothing of who might have sent him."

"Oh." Her father shook his head. "Nothing you need worry about."

"Then it was some personal correspondence you received?"

"What?" He looked at her, brow furrowed with confusion. "Of course not. Who is it you think would be writing to me? I don't have friends tucked away in distant places."

That was certainly true.

"Well, then tell me. What news have you heard?"

"As I said, it's nothing for you to worry about. You just focus on what's happening here, in Denerim. On taking care of yourself."

His tone was dismissive, and anger flared in Anora's chest. Did he think she was in invalid, or a child in need of coddling? She brushed the dirt from her hands on the legs of her trousers.

"No. That's not the way things are going to be. I am the queen of this country, and anything that affects the health or safety of Ferelden is my concern. So tell me. What is it you've heard?"

He hesitated, as though he meant to argue, but with a shrug of his shoulders, he replied, "News from the north. Crestwood has been overrun with darkspawn. I'm not entirely sure of the details, but there was some trouble with the dam, and the town was flooded. Destroyed, completely. Although it sounds as though the darkspawn were washed away, as well, so there's that."

"Crestwood? Washed away?" Maker, how could he be so calm about this? "That's in Loren Blaydon's bannric, isn't it?" Anora couldn't remember having visited the town, but she could picture where it sat on the map, south of West Hill, near the mouth of the River Dane.

"Yes."

"Does he know?"

"I presume so. I haven't spoken with him about it, but I would expect that he's been notified, probably before I was." Loghain paused. "Although, I doubt he'll do much of anything about it. Word is that he spends all his days in the tavern, drinking. The deaths of his wife and son hit him hard."

"Bann Loren is hardly the only person who's suffered losses." Instantly, she regretted her harsh tone. "That's unkind of me to say. Of course he's struggling right now. It's to be expected."

"Perhaps. But it's true, and Ferelden can't afford for any of us to grieve endlessly. Not yet."

"For there to be darkspawn that far north . . ." Anora shuddered. She hadn't yet encountered one of the creatures, but the descriptions she'd heard were terrifying.

"Yes." Her father held her gaze. "It is . . . troubling."

That was an understatement. "We should send aid. To the people displaced when the dam broke."

"Yes. I've already looked into that, and sent a few supplies - food, and blankets, and the like. But we don't have any soldiers to spare. I've asked Howe to see about sending some men from Amaranthine . . ." His eyes darkened as his voice trailed off.

"And? Is he going to send them?"

Again, he hesitated. "Yes. I'm sure he will, in the long run. It might take a bit more convincing, though."

"Convincing? If Howe is going to call himself the Teyrn of Highever, he has a duty to protect the people of the teyrnir. I presume you reminded him of this?"

"Yes. As I said, don't worry. He'll agree to send the help Crestwood needs."

"Is there anything else I should know?"

A frown settled across his lips. "Well, the 'crafters' at the Pearl are threatening to close their doors if they're not recognized as an official guild."

"Again, that sounds like a matter for Howe. He'll need to mediate between the brothel and the Merchants' Guild, until they can come to some sort of agreement."

"Yes," he replied, and the word hung uncomfortably in the air; Anora knew her father well enough to see that there was something he wasn't saying.

"What else? I want to know everything."

He drew in a long breath. "I just . . . well, there is word from the Bannorn. Bann Ramsey seems to have taken it upon himself to speak for the Bannorn, in Lucas Bronach's absence. And, like Bronach, he has refused to send any troops to fight the darkspawn. I will deal with it, though."

"You'll deal with it? The way you dealt with Bronach?"

Even now, she felt vaguely ill to think about that. Not only that her father had killed the Bann of Hafter River, but that he seemed unable to see how wrong it had been. Or understand that he couldn't just kill people when they didn't do what he wanted. It was almost as though the Blight had twisted him, twisted his mind in some subtle way.

"Bann Bronach needed to be made an example of," her father repeated, as he had many times in the two weeks since the incident had taken place. "Not only was the man refusing to do his duty to the Crown, but he was inciting others to shirk on their duties, as well. Bronach was a traitor, and needed to be dealt with accordingly, and the banns needed a reminder that they have responsibilities, duties that must be fulfilled."

"A reminder is one thing, Father. But this? This was something else entirely. Word of the bann's death reached Denerim even before you'd returned from Hafter River, but no one else seems to see it as you do. You killed a man who had come to parlay, and there are some calling it murder. And now, you wonder at Bann Ramsey's refusal to cooperate? You'll turn the entire Bannorn against us if you're not careful."

"Murder?" Loghain scoffed. "Ridiculous. You weren't there. You didn't hear the things Bronach said, his manner. If I had allowed all of that to stand, we would have lost control of the Bannorn entirely."

"Based on what you've just said about Bann Ramsey, we've lost control of them anyway."

"I stand by what happened at Hafter River. The man left me no choice. Our country is in peril, and no one is willing to lift a finger to stop it."

No one? Did he not see the efforts others were making? It sounded as though he trusted no one, not even his own daughter. "Be that as it may, I wish you had handled things differently when you went to parlay. I fear this will start a civil war, and we can't afford that, not while there are darkspawn to be dealt with. We can't stop this Blight without the help of the Bannorn."

"This is no true Blight." He shook his head. "Only Cailan's vanity demanded it be so."

An ache sprung up in her chest at the mention of Cailan. "Blight or no," she replied, "the fact remains: if we cannot garner the cooperation of the Bannorn, we will not be able to fight the greater threat of the darkspawn. You should have known that challenging the Bannorn in this manner would end badly."

His gaze narrowed. "I know what I'm doing, Anora."

"Do you?" She stood straight, hands on her hips.

A muscle twitched in his cheek, and his eyes widened. "How can you ask me a thing like that? He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I would have thought that you, of all people, would trust my judgment in this. Have I not proven, time and time again, my dedication to Ferelden? Do I not understand, better than anyone alive, the risks, and all that's at stake?"

"It's not that I don't trust your judgment," she replied, "but I am allowed feel that you made a mistake, am I not? Or are you beyond such things? Perhaps mistakes are committed only by mere mortals, a state you have somehow transcended?"

His eyes narrowed. "Sarcasm does you no credit. Of course I make mistakes. I have never once denied any of the mistakes I have made, and there have been a great many." He paused. "More than you could possibly imagine. But through it all, I have always done what was best for Ferelden in a time of crisis. And I will not tolerate anyone suggesting otherwise. Not even you. I will lead Ferelden through this. You must have faith in me."

"And what of Cailan?" The words tumbled out before she could think them through or stop them. "Did you kill Cailan? Was that best for Ferelden 'in a time of crisis?'"

He looked away, down at the ground, and his hands tightened into fists. "Cailan's death was his own doing."

Something cold slid down Anora's spine at these words, at their inflection. It wasn't the answer she'd expected, the answer she'd wanted to hear. She wanted a firm denial. To be assured that, of course, her father hadn't wanted Cailan to die. That he had left the field of necessity, and not abandoned Cailan to the darkspawn on purpose. That he hadn't orchestrated the whole thing himself, as was being whispered in public houses and the market square and even in the halls of the Denerim Palace, by servants and nobles alike.

Again, heat rose behind her eyes. She threw up her hands, and turned away from her father, not wanting him to see her struggle against her tears.

Damn it. Damn it all to the Void. She hadn't expected to be blindsided with this right now. All she had wanted was to have some time alone in the garden with her thoughts, to think about Eleanor and the plant flowers. But now everything had come crashing down again.

And Cailan . . . had he intended for Cailan to die? That made no sense. Her father had loved Cailan, truly. But when she'd asked, outright, why hadn't he denied it?

She felt sick to her stomach, and fear bubbled up in her chest, a desperate fear that had no focus. Was she afraid for Ferelden? Yes, of course, but this went deeper. This . . . this is how she'd felt when Rhianna was ill. Her worry that her father, too, would catch the plague, and be taken from her.

A fear of being alone.

She'd always spent a lot of time in her own company, but that was different than being truly alone. But with Cailan dead, and Eleanor, and so many others . . . her father was the only person she had left in all the world. No matter what he may or may not have done, she didn't want to lose him, too. She  _couldn't_  lose him. She just couldn't.

She forced her breath to slow, and blinked away the tears that threatened, and then turned to face her father.

"Please. I don't want to fight with you. I just want . . ." There was a slight tremor in her voice, like that of a small child. She spoke the next words in a louder, more confident voice. "What I want is to know that you I can work together. I still have faith that we can pull Ferelden through this, but not if you and I are at one another's throats. So, please. Please. Can't we just put all this aside, and agree that from now on, you will tell me everything that's happening, all the news that comes to your ears? And you will consult me before making decisions? Decisions like the one you made at Hafter River?"

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and gave a slight shudder. When he opened his eyes, and met Anora's gaze, she couldn't read his expression.

"As you wish." He sounded defeated, almost. "And I . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry if what happened at Hafter River has made things more difficult for you. That was never my intention." He paused. "I have only ever wanted what was best for you, and for Ferelden."

"I know," she replied. "I know that. But I am not a child. I am the Queen of Ferelden, and I need you to have some faith in me." She let out a breath, willing herself to be calm. The two remaining bare root roses still lay in the dirt, looking small and forlorn as they waited to be planted. Or perhaps it was Anora herself who felt small and forlorn. Either way, they needed to be planted today, or they might wither and die, and she couldn't let that happen. She had to nurture them. Help them to grow strong, and healthy. Keep them safe. She  _had_ to.

"Night is falling fast," she said. "I'd like to get those roses into the ground before darkness falls." She paused. "Will you . . ." Her voice broke, and she straightened her back and stood taller. "Will you help me plant them? I'd like for us to do this together."

His eyes widened, as if surprised by this request. But with a slow nod, he pushed up the sleeves of his linen shirt. "Of course. You said these were in honor of Eleanor?"

"Yes. From the day I first heard of her death, I knew that this was one of the ways that I wanted to commemorate her. Flowers, so I would have something beautiful to remember her by."

He bent down, as though he meant to pick up one of the bushes, but he stopped himself, and straightened again. "Perhaps I'll be responsible for digging the holes," he said. "Rosebushes and I don't have a happy history together, and I should hate to do anything to kill these ones, even inadvertently. I'll dig the holes, and let you handle the bushes themselves. I think it will be better that way."

Oh yes. The rose bush that her father "killed" all those years ago in Gwaren. She felt a little stab of grief at the memory of her mother this brought into her mind.

"That wasn't your fault, you know. The rosebush in Gwaren. It was sick, and was going to die anyway. It wasn't anything you did that killed it."

He arched a brow. "That's kind of you to say, but I still recall, quite clearly, the expression on your mother's face that day. An expression that very much seemed to blame me."

"Perhaps there was blame there," Anora murmured. "But I doubt very much it had anything to do with the roses."

His brow furrowed, and his eyes darkened.

Why had she said that? There was no call to bring up things from so many years ago, not when they had troubles aplenty in the present.

She bent down and retrieved the trowel. "Here." She offered it to her father. "I would appreciate it if you would dig the holes  _And_  help me plant the roses, as well. For Eleanor."

His eyes studied her face. She couldn't guess what he hoped to see there, but after a moment, he seemed to find it. He reached out and took the trowel.

"For Eleanor. "

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for such a very long delay between this chapter and the previous one. I've had a difficult time getting back into the habit of writing since my illness earlier in the year, but I fully intend to continue working on this story. Right now, I'm going to aim for a chapter every other week, and more if I can manage it. Thank you so much to everyone who sent reviews and comments:   
> Sue_Donym_98, LadyDarksbane, KatDancer, Vicky79, yarnandtea and a Guest.
> 
> Content Warning - I have played through Inquisition once now, and am SO EXCITED about that story (and how Rhianna and Loghain will fit into those events). Expect to see Inquisition characters and backstory introduced into Unshaken, here and there. I've done it for the first time in this chapter. Nothing that I include here will be a major spoiler (certain not for Inquisition events, which won't happen for 10 years), but there might be minor spoilers for events we learn about in the game. I doubt this will be a problem for those of you who haven't played the game yet - I expect any reference I make will just pass by unnoticed - but I thought it would be good to give fair warning that things referenced in the new game will be included. :)


	47. A madness inside me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While traveling through the Deep Roads, Rhianna and her companions have an encounter they won't soon forget.

__**25 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon**  
_**Deep Trenches** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

"You feel it too?" Daveth leaned close to Alistair and Rhianna. "Don't you?"

They had stopped for their mid-day meal in a small cavern that was almost cheerful. Lava lit the stone walls with its amber glow, and a tiny stream trickled down from somewhere above, creating a small waterfall that splashed merrily into a narrow pool of water. Rhianna was able to remain relatively calm by focusing on the sound of the running water and the conversations going on around her, while she pushed back the anxiety that had taken up permanent residence inside of her chest.

"I feel it all the time now," Daveth continued in a low voice, as though he didn't want to be overheard. "Do the both of you feel it, too?"

Rhianna didn't need to ask what Daveth meant. Nor, apparently, did Alistair.

"Yeah, I feel it," Alistair agreed. "This is how it was at Ostagar, in the few days before the battle. A vague sort of tingling that doesn't ever go away. Usually we have to be pretty close to darkspawn before we can sense them, but when there are a whole lot of them all in one place, we can feel them from farther away." He paused. "Which is my way of saying that we're probably getting close to the horde."

"Yeah." Daveth gave a crooked grin. "I was afraid that's what it meant." He turned to Rhianna. "What about you?"

"I feel it." At first, Rhianna had barely noticed the sensation; it had seemed no more than another symptom of her anxiety about being underground. But as the tingling under her skin became ever-present, even when they were clearly nowhere near any darkspawn, she realized it was something else. There was also a melody that ran through her head, in an ethereal voice. She found it quite soothing, almost as though someone were out there, watching over her. "I've felt it constantly for at least two days now, along with the singing."

"Singing?" Alistair leaned forward. "What singing?"

The question caught her off guard. "The voice . . . that . . . sings?" She looked from Alistair to Daveth and back to Alistair, but they both just stared back at her, with furrowed brows. "Don't you hear it?" She listened to the song that even now floated through her mind, and hummed along with the now-familiar tune.

When she stopped, she looked for any spark of recognition in either man's face, but saw none.

"No," Daveth said. "It's pretty, but I've never heard it before."

"Oh." She paused. "I . . . it's the archdemon, I suppose. Singing to the horde. I've heard it on and off for weeks now, but over the past few days, I hear it most of the time. It is pretty, isn't it? But I don't quite understand . . ." She bit at her bottom lip. "You really don't hear it?"

"No, I don't hear it, either." Alistair shook his head. "But the archdemon is supposed to sing to the horde. Maybe you're just . . . lucky? In being able to hear it before we can?" His eyes narrowed in thought. "I suppose this means the archdemon must be nearby, as well."

"What's this about the archdemon?" Jowan leaned forward, a cheerful smile on his face. Few things seemed to dampen the mage's spirits, even down here. Solona had been like that, too: apparently, even fighting the darkspawn was preferable to life in the Circle.

"Oh, nothing much," Alistair replied. "Just that he's down here somewhere, judging by the fact that he hasn't shown himself on the surface. And . . . since we're getting near the horde, chances are we'll run into him one of these days. Probably sooner rather than later."

"Wait, you think we'll run into the archdemon?" Faren sounded anything but cheerful. "And what do you mean, we're getting near the horde? What makes you say that?"

"Oh that's right; not everyone can feel it." Alistair turned to the dwarf. "Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn. We feel when they're nearby. And for the past couple of days, all three of us have . . . felt them, constantly. A  _lot_  of them. Somewhere nearby."

Morrigan arched a brow. "Perhaps t'would be wise to consider an alternate route? One that would allow us to give the darkspawn a wide berth. I certainly have no desire to encounter more of them than absolutely necessary. Nor come face to face with this archdemon of theirs."

"Or perhaps," Sten began, giving Morrigan a deep frown, "we should confront it. Kill the creature now. Isn't that the way to end a Blight? Destroy the archdemon?"

"You want us to kill it?" Alistair's forehead creased. "Now? Just the . . ." His eyes scanned the group. "Ten of us?"

"Yes. All this wandering around underground has gotten us nowhere, and reeks of cowardice. We should face the creature, and slay it, and put an end to this for once and for all."

"Is that even possible?" A crease marred Leliana's brow. "Just . . . killing it? With the weapons and spells we have available? I would have thought it would be more indestructible than that."

"I don't see why not," Daveth said. "I mean, it's just a dragon, right? It ought to die if we hit it enough times."

"I . . . I really don't know," Alistair replied. "I always got the feeling from Duncan that there was something special about the archdemon. That only Grey Wardens could kill it, although I never quite got the details. But in the past, no archdemon has ever been killed without an army – or several – all working together. I doubt we'd have any chance against it." He shrugged. "I suppose if we see it, we can decide for ourselves. You know, whether we want to try and fight it, or if it would be smarter to soil our armor and run away screaming." He winked at Rhianna. "I'm pretty sure I'll choose the second option, but you never know. Maybe it's not really as big as it looks in the dreams. Maybe it's no bigger than a horse, and just looks big because it's surrounded by an army of midget darkspawn. Wouldn't that be something?"

They all laughed.

"I wouldn't complain if that were the case," Daveth said, "but I don't think I'd get my hopes up, if I were you."

Morrigan leaned forward. "Again, I ask: would it not be wiser to find some alternate route?"

"There is no alternate route," Oghren said. "We're lucky to have found our way this far, with the ancient maps we've been using. Fortunately, things don't change much down here, or quickly. But we need to stick to the roads on the map, or we risk getting turned around down here and lost forever. And we're getting close, I'm sure of it. Bownammar shouldn't be more than a day away, if that."

"You are 'sure of it?'" Morrigan sounded unconvinced. "If I recall, you have spoken those same words every day for the past week, yet still we have not arrived in this ancient city of yours. I am skeptical that such a place even exists."

Ogrhen snorted. "What are you talking about? Of course Bownammar exists. I'm just a bit off on the distances, that's all. But we're getting close, and we'll find it soon, along with Branka."

"Yes," Morrigan said, "that is another thing I wonder. Have you seen anything in recent days to indicate that Branka passed this way? Even one single sign of her since we left Ortan Thaig?"

"Well . . . no. Not exactly."

Morrigan said nothing, but the arch of her brow and disdainful stare spoke volumes.

"But that's not the point," he huffed. "Her journal said she was going to Bownammar. I know that's where we'll find her."

Morrigan crossed her arms in front of her chest. "So you say. You have gone on and on about it. You are 'sure.' You 'know.' Except you  _do not_  really know, do you? You have absolutely no tangible reason to believe your wife is still alive. And now we are heading into what appears to be a huge number of darkspawn, all on your say so, in spite of the fact that you cannot be certain she came this way, or that she yet lives."

"She's alive." He slammed a gauntleted fist down on the stone. "I'm sure of it. I'd . . . feel it, if she wasn't."

"You have just proven my point," Morrigan said. "This 'feeling' of yours is no proof." She turned to Rhianna. "How much longer are we going to follow this man? For all we know, he has addled his mind so thoroughly with drink, he has no idea where we are in relation to this dwarven city. Now he leads us in the direction of the horde, and we are expected to follow blindly?"

Rhianna wasn't inclined to disagree with Morrigan's argument - all of these same thoughts had occurred to Rhianna in previous days, but she'd shrugged them off as being tied to her own fears. To hear someone else speak them aloud, though, made them more difficult to ignore.

She turned to Faren. "What do you think? How close are we to Bownammar, assuming such a place still exists?"

"Well, I agree with Oghren that it's still out here somewhere," he replied. "Short of some sort of massive cave-in, nothing could have destroyed the city. As for how far we are?" He shrugged. "I'd say Oghren's estimate is pretty close. Maybe a tad optimistic, but not by much. We should arrive at the city in a day or two. Maybe three at most."

"Three at most?" Rhianna glanced at the faces of her companions. Other than the dwarves, it was clear that none of them liked this journey. It was time to be finished with this, one way or another. "All right. We'll give it exactly three more days. If we haven't found Bownammar, or some tangible proof that we're on the right track, we'll turn and head back toward Orzammar."

"But what if-"

Rhianna cut Oghren off. "No. No arguments. Three more days. If we haven't found any sign of Branka by then, we'll just tell Bhelen that we tried our best, and there was no sign to be found. Certainly, if we haven't succeeded, there's no chance anyone Harrowmont sent would have had better luck."

"I just had a thought." All eyes fell upon Jowan. "What if," he mused, "the reason our Wardens are sensing all those darkspawn ahead is because they're  _at_  Bownammar?"

One of the muscles in Alistair's cheek twitched. "Well aren't you a little ray of sunshine?"

‹›‹O›‹›

When they continued on again, Rhianna felt unsettled. Even the dwarven-made roads seemed constricted and cramped, and the buzzing in her ears grew progressively stronger as they made their way in what the dwarves assured her was west. The single strand of melody floated through her mind - a genuinely beautiful song - but the comfort she'd felt in it before had faded with the knowledge that she was the only one who could hear it. Why would that be? It must be the archdemon singing to the horde, but why couldn't Alistair and Daveth hear it, too?

Now, the song was just one more thing to worry about, along with the huge host of worries she was already carrying. She hated traveling underground.  _Hated_  it, as much as she had ever hated anything. The anxiety she'd felt in Ortan Thaig hadn't lessened, but had grown steadily worse as they traveled deeper and deeper. Farther and farther away from the sunshine. She felt small, and smothered, and flinched at loud noises. With every step, she had to remind herself to take slow, deep breaths, and she walked with anyone who would talk to her - just idle conversation - anything to distract her mind from thoughts of the weight of solid rock that hung over her head. Anything to keep her mind off of the sensation of being eaten alive from the inside by the taint that buzzed in her veins. The memory of fresh air, and of the wide expanse of the sky above her, seemed so distant, as though she'd only ever seen those things in dreams. She needed to be finished here, and return to a place that made sense. A place where she felt safe. They needed to find this Maker-damned Branka - dead or alive - and get back aboveground. She'd pushed her companions to travel more hours in a day than they usually walked, but no one had complained. She wasn't the only one who didn't enjoy this particular mission.

The archdemon. To be honest, finding him along with the horde, would almost be a relief. Anything to break the monotony of traveling through these damned dwarven tunnels. And if there was even the slightest chance of defeating him and ending the Blight, and being able to go back to the surface, she would welcome it. And, if they fought the archdemon and lost, well . . . her troubles would be over, either way.

The only time she wasn't miserable was during her evening guitar lessons with Zevran. He had followed through on his promise, and every night they sat apart from the others so he could help her learn to play. She knew all the chords to "Denerim Fair" now, and even sang it for him a few times, very quietly, so no one else could hear. That very first time had gone slowly, as she paused between each chord to get her fingers into the right positions, but she'd made it through, and Zevran had been appreciative of her progress. As promised, callouses had formed on the tips of her fingers, and she could play all evening now without being in any pain, and every day she felt more and more competent. She'd never had any particular interest in learning to play an instrument before, after her early, failed attempts at the harpsichord, but now she found that making music with her hands was surprisingly gratifying. Best of all, it was an effective distraction, and those hours in the evening when she held the guitar in her hands, with Zevran's warm encouragement and perhaps a shoulder rub, gave her a much-needed break from the constant anxiety of traveling underground.

Well, in truth, there was one other time when she felt calm and safe. This was something she would never admit to anyone else. Something that made hot shame twist in her belly when she thought about it during her waking hours. But whenever they stopped to make camp, and she'd tucked herself into her bedroll to sleep, she comforted herself with thoughts of Loghain. She didn't think of kissing him, or the night they'd spent together at Fort Drakon; those things were painful to remember and brought no comfort. Instead, she merely imagined that he was with her, lying beside her, solid and strong. She would hold tight to the roll of clothing she used as a pillow, and imagined that her head rested on his chest, and that his arms were wrapped tightly around her. Imagined that the heartbeat she heard in her head was his, drumming gently beneath her cheek.

This was wrong. Stupid and wrong, to imagine something that could never be. She ought to put him out of her mind, but somehow, she couldn't help herself. Imagining that his warmth surrounded her helped her fall asleep. Perhaps it even kept some of the worst dreams at bay, and when she woke from a particularly bad one - her breath coming fast from the terror - she thought of Loghain's face illuminated by a torch in a dark room, and she felt safer, if only for a short time. She hated herself for it during the days, but even so, she didn't try to stop herself. Right now, she was willing to do anything, so long as it helped her get through each of these agonizing days beneath the ground.

About an hour after they'd begun to walking again, Daveth, who had taken point, slowed his pace, allowing Rhianna to catch up with him.

"I hear something new up ahead." He put a hand on her arm, urging her to stop walking. "Listen."

Sure enough, an unfamiliar sound could now be heard in the distance, faint but steady. A low rumble.

Morrigan came up beside Rhianna. "What on earth is that sound?"

Apparently the others could hear it, too. This was something real, then, and not an artifact of the taint. By now, everyone had gathered around Rhianna, looking to her for an answer to Morrigan's question.

She gave an uncertain shrug. "It must be the horde?" Really, what else could it be? "Let's keep going," she continued, "but cautiously."

The road came to an end at a gaping hole in the rock. Beyond was a cavern, vastly larger than any they had yet passed through. From where they stood, it appeared so large that the entire city of Highever could have easily fit inside. There was no movement - no darkspawn to be seen, and certainly no enormous dragon - but the rumbling of feet and voices seemed to come from inside, and the taint buzzed more urgently in Rhianna's veins than ever before.

"We should turn back," Morrigan insisted.

"Yes," Wynne agreed. "I think perhaps that would be for the best."

"This is the way to Bownammar," Oghren replied. "In case you hadn't noticed, there isn't any other way for us to go but back, and I'm not giving up. Not when we're so close to finding Branka."

"I case you hadn't noticed," Alistair quipped, "finding Branka's not going to do us much good if we're dead."

Oghren growled. "You're really suggesting we turn tail and run away? Look inside. Do you even  _see_  a single darkspawn?"

"I don't have to see them to know that they're there," Daveth said. "Can't you  _hear_  them?"

"Well, I don't care," the red-haired dwarf replied. "The rest of you are welcome to whine and piss your armor out here, but I'm going in."

With that, he stomped into the darkened cavern.

The others all turned to Rhianna.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Let's go," she said, and followed after the dwarf.

They entered an enormous natural cavern, so large it couldn't possibly have been hewn from the rock by dwarven tools. A massive canyon ran through its center, and its roof was so high overhead it was shrouded in darkness. There was evidence that dwarves had passed through at some point in the past - carved statues lined the dimly-lit path on which they walked - but there was no sign that anyone had passed through recently. Certainly not Branka and her entire house.

If there had been any doubt that the horde was nearby, it was completely erased as soon as she stepped into the cavern. Her skin crawled, and the buzzing in her ears blotted out all other sounds. With every step, she had to resist the urge to turn and run in the opposite direction, but at the same time, the song in her head seemed to urge her forward, with a promise of something more beautiful than anything she had previously imagined.

They approached the edge of the canyon to discover that it was hundreds of feet deep, and at the bottom, thousands and thousands of tiny points of light moved and shifted. She stood at the edge of the chasm and looked down. Was it a river of lava? That didn't seem right, but what else could it be?

Every sense in her body hummed, to the point of distraction. She could barely think straight, but forced herself to take one slow breath after the next as she held tight to the thread of melody that ran through her mind, clearer now than ever before. She stared into the canyon, blinking against the haze of smoke that drifted up from below, accompanied by a stench of decay and death, and something sickly sweet, like rotting fruit. The sounds they'd been hearing as they approached grew louder, and began to resolve into separate components: the stomping of countless booted feet upon stone; a cacophony of snarls and growling voices that blended together into a dull roar.

_Maker._

She realized what she was seeing.

Torches. Torches, carried by darkspawn. More darkspawn than were at Ostagar. More than she could count; more than she could ever have imagined. The canyon floor literally crawled with the creatures, as far as she could see in either direction, and her stomach churned at the sight of them.

If this was the force poised to attack the surface, there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. There were far, far too many darkspawn. The king's army had been defeated by, what? Ten thousand of the creatures? There were ten times that many here, at least. No human force on earth could be large enough to combat this many darkspawn, and only a fraction of Ferelden's forces had survived Ostagar. No matter how many soldiers Loghain recruited, they could never defeat this horde. Even with all of Orlais' chevaliers, they could never defeat this horde. Antiva and Tevinter and the Free Marches could send every soldier they had, and they could never defeat this horde.

Ferelden didn't stand a chance.

"That is a lot of darkspawn." Zevran's words echoed Rhianna's thoughts. "It is difficult to imagine how we might win against them."

"I . . . know," she said truthfully. "I suppose we need the Anvil of the Void more than ever. Having an army of golems couldn't be a bad thing."

"Must we stand so close to the edge?" Morrigan's voice was hesitant and small, something Rhianna had not heard before.

She had no time to respond before a rush of wind swept across them as something dark and impossibly huge came up from below and flew into the open space above the canyon. One of the companions cried out in horror - Jowan, perhaps - and everyone stumbled back, away from the edge of the canyon.

A dragon. The thing that had flown past was an enormous dragon, far larger than anything Rhianna could have ever imagined. Larger than it had seemed in her dreams; its wings would have easily spanned the market square in Denerim. It flew up and up and up, nearly out of sight in the black emptiness at the top of the enormous cavern, and then twisted in mid-air. It hung there for a moment, then folded its wings and dove toward them, gaining speed as it fell. Rhianna's legs tensed, in preparation to leap out of the way as soon as she was certain of how the dragon meant to attack. Just when it seemed the creature would crash into the stone at their feet, he opened his wings to break his fall, and settled heavily on a decrepit bridge that spanned the deep cavern below.

The archdemon.

Maker. Did it know they were here? Could it sense Rhianna, Daveth and Alistair, or were enough darkspawn swarming down below to drown out whatever taint three tiny human Wardens could emit?

The archdemon leaned forward and roared, spitting a cloud of dark blue flames from its mouth. A high-pitched screech drowned out all other sound, and a stabbing pain exploded in Rhianna's head, as though her skull had been pierced by a dagger. She dropped to her knees and covered her ears with her hands, but the sound only grew louder, more insistent and intense, a sound filled with anger and frustration and rage. It wasn't coming from outside, it was somehow in her head. She pushed harder on her ears, and made a frantic prayer.

_Make it stop! Please, make it stop! Please, please make it stop!_

The screeching was replaced by a harsh whisper:

_As you wisssshhhhh._

The pain in her head disappeared. Startled, she craned her neck to look at the dragon perched above the chasm. He stared down at her, his eyes burning white, as though lit from within.

Was he  _talking_  to her?

The voice came again:

_You should not be here, Warrrdennnnn._

A shudder ran through her body, and she had difficulty catching her breath. The archdemon  _was_  speaking to her. His voice creaked and rasped, like a rusted hinge on an ancient door, but held none of the hatred she had felt from the initial screech that filled her mind.

She struggled to focus her mind and address the dragon.

_Are you . . . Urthemiel?_

The creature shivered, as though surprised she had answered back.  _Yes . . . I have not . . . I have not heard my name spoken in a very long time._  He paused.  _You . . . know who I am?_

 _I do,_  she replied.  _Does this surprise you?_

 _Perhaps not. I have known of you for some time now._ His speech was clearer now, less hesitant.  _Right after I was awakened by that creature, I dreamt of you. Do you remember?_

Right after he was awakened? Oh, Maker. He must be talking about the dream she'd had back in Highever, before any of this started. Was that what he meant? She wasn't even a Grey Warden yet, but what else could he mean? But what 'creature' had awoken him?

"Rhianna? Are you all right?" Daveth grasped her arm, and pulled her to her feet. "Come on. Let's get out of here!" He took hold of her hand as he started to run away from the canyon, but she shook him off.

"No. I can't leave just yet." She took a step toward the edge of the chasm, and another, and turned her attention back to the dragon.

 _I don't understand_ , she said.  _You dreamt of me before I was a Grey Warden? But why?_

_Because your mind was open to me. You heard, and wanted to answer back._

Fair enough.  _What is it you want from me?_

_I need your help._

Yes, that's what he had said to her that very first time. She'd only understood a few words, but she remembered quite clearly a plea for help.

_You need my help? Help with what?_

_To stop this. Stop . . . me, before I destroy everything. There is a madness inside me that claws through my blood and seeps into my bones. It clouds my thoughts, and I am no longer myself._

Oh. _You mean the taint?_

_Yessss. I feel it inside of me. I can fight it some of the time, but it burns and writhes and when it takes control I can't stop it. Can't stop myself. I . . . I . . ._

A faint but furious screech began to grow in the back of her mind.

 _Go!_  Urthemiel's voice boomed in her mind, even as the screech grew louder.  _Take your clan and get as far from this place as you can! Once the taint returns, I won't be able to stop myself from killing you!_

_But . . . I don't understand. How can I help?_

_I don't know . . . but you must go, now! All of you. Run, now!_

The archdemon leapt from the bridge, and flapped frantically to gain height. He flew upwards, in the opposite direction from Rhianna and her companions. The screeching inside her head grew louder, and there was something in it now that hadn't been there before. Rage.

With that, she understood: Urthemiel wanted to put as much distance between them as possible, before the taint took him over again. Because the tainted creature inside of him hated her, and desperately wanted her dead.

"Run!" She turned and grabbed Daveth's arm, pulling him along as she headed back the way they had come. They had to find a place where the dragon wouldn't be able to come through, wouldn't be able to find them. Wouldn't be able to sense the Warden taint, and ferret them out. "Everyone, run! We have to get out of here now!"

She raced toward the entrance to the cavern, her companions in her wake. She glanced back over her shoulder to see that the archdemon had turned, mid-air, and was flying directly toward them. The screeching grew louder, and she covered her ears with her hands, but it did nothing to keep out the sound. A rush of air washed across her shoulders, as if from a stroke of enormous wings . . .

She ran harder than she'd ever run before.

‹›‹O›‹›

"What in the Maker's name happened back there?"

They'd taken refuge in a narrow, natural cave after the archdemon's pursuit. For several minutes, the dragon had clawed at the rock, screeching and breathing fire, in an attempt to get to the companions, but the cave was deep enough that they were able to retreat to where the flames could not reach them. After several minutes of digging, the archdemon gave up and flew off into the darkness.

Now, in the thin, watery light of Morrigan's staff, Alistair stared down at Rhianna through narrowed eyes. When she didn't respond right away, he repeated the question.

"What happened back there, Rhianna? Because I could swear that I saw you walking toward the archdemon while the rest of us were getting ready to run away."

Had it been that obvious? She'd only shared a few words with Urthemiel.

"I . . . well, yes. I suppose something did happen. I thought . . . did you not hear it, too?" She glanced at Daveth, including him in the query, but even as she asked the question, she knew the answer: Urthemiel's words had been for Rhianna alone.

Daveth gave a silent shrug, while Alistair replied, "Heard it? Heard what? What on earth are you talking about?"

"The archdemon. He was . . . talking. Not out loud, but I heard his voice in my mind."

"The archdemon was talking?" Alistair's voice was high-pitched and strained. "Of course I didn't hear the archdemon talking." He turned to Daveth. "Or did I miss something, here?"

"No." Daveth shook his head slowly. "I didn't hear anything like that, either. Of course, we don't hear the singing, either, do we?" He paused. "What, exactly, did you hear, Rhianna?"

"I heard the archdemon's voice. I didn't just hear it. He spoke to me." She glanced at Alistair, whose mouth was set in an angry line. "To me, and only me it seems."

Faren leaned forward. "How is such a thing possible?"

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "I . . . well, I thought it was because of the Grey Warden taint. I thought all Wardens could hear the archdemon." She turned to Alistair. "You're the one who told me that, remember?"

"I remember telling you that Wardens can  _hear_  the archdemon in our dreams, and that occasionally - after years and years - some of them can understand a bit of what's being said. That's a far cry from sitting down and having a conversation with it." He paused. "I want to understand this, Rhianna. I really do. But right now, I just don't see how something like this is possible. And seeing you walk right toward that thing . . . it was just  _wrong_."

"I don't understand it either," she insisted. "I thought it was the taint . . ." Except that it can't be the taint that started it; she'd dreamt of Urthemiel long before her Joining. "Unless it's because the archdemon isn't human. A dragon is a sort of animal, isn't it?"

Daveth put a steady hand on her shoulder. "What difference does that make?"

"Because I can speak with animals. All animals, or nearly so, and since a dragon is an animal-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Alistair interrupted. "What do you mean, you can speak with animals? Since when?"

"Since always," she replied. "I've been able to do as long as I can remember. Since I was tiny."

Alistair came a step closer. When Daveth shifted forward, putting himself in Alistair's path, Alistair pushed the other man out of his way. "You really expect us to believe this? That you can speak with animals? It sounds more than a bit crazy, you know, unless you've been hiding something from us all this time? Like that fact that you're a mage?"

"She is not crazy," Leliana said, "nor is she a mage. There have always been people who can speak with animals - not many, but Rhianna is certainly not the only one. We call such people 'rangers.' Have you never wondered by we are never attacked by wild animals as we travel through the forests or mountains? We have moved through the territories of bears, wolves, lions, and come through unscathed. None of them would attack Rhianna, and so the rest of us were safe as well."

"She's right," Daveth added, as he moved closer to Rhianna, as though prepared to defend her if the need arose. "My mum was like that. She could charm all the animals on the farm, and those in the forest as well."

Alistair turned to Wynne. "Is this true? There are people who can talk to animals?"

Why would he ask Wynne something like that?

Rhianna stepped closer to Alistair, and caught and held his gaze. "What sort of question is that? Is my word - and Leliana's and Daveth's - not good enough for you? Of course it's true. There are people who can talk to animals, and I'm one of them."

Alistair's cheeks blushed pink. "I . . . I didn't mean it like that. I just . . . well, are you sure it's not some sort of magic? That's all I wanted to know."

"You're question was a good one, Alistair." Wynne crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I have heard of such a thing, yes." The mage's tone was harsh as she glanced at Rhianna out of the corner of her eye. "And as far as I know, it's not magic. Even so, it's certainly not common, and you shouldn't feel bad for never having heard of it before. What I don't understand is why Rhianna kept it a secret until now."

"It was never a secret," Leliana said lightly. "Rhianna told me this about herself weeks ago."

"Well, she never told  _me_ ," Alistair replied.

"Perhaps I didn't tell you, because I was afraid of something like this!" She forced herself not to shout, even though the anger that had blossomed in her chest nearly drowned out the ringing in her ears, and the itch of the taint in her veins. "Perhaps I've always been afraid that people would react badly, or accuse me of having magic, and expect me to answer a thousand and one questions about something I only barely understand myself. Which is exactly what is happening now." She forced herself to take a breath. "At any rate, now you know. Now everyone knows. Yes, I can talk to animals, and apparently, that includes the archdemon." She glanced toward the opening of the tunnel where they had taken refuge. "Speaking of which, he seems to have given up on trying to kill us for the moment, so I suggest we get back on the road. I meant what I said earlier: if we haven't found Bownammar in three days, we'll return to Orzammar. Oghren? Which way do we go?"

"Oh, um, yeah." He blinked, as though surprised by the question. "I'd say we should follow along the side of that canyon. To the north."

"I can't tell one direction from the other down here. Tell me which way to turn."

"Heh, yeah I forgot about that. Turn right. When we get to the canyon, turn right."

"Thank you." Rhianna strode toward the mouth of the cave, not really caring if anyone followed her or not.

"But . . ." Alistair called after her, "aren't you going to tell us what the archdemon said?"

Rhianna ignored the question and continued toward the cavern where they'd encountered Urthemiel. If Alistair had wanted to know what the dragon said, then he should have asked that in the first place, and not gone whining to Wynne with his stupid questions.

Only that was a bit unfair, wasn't it? She slowed her pace, and nearly stopped.

It wasn't a stupid question; it was a reasonable thing to ask. He'd just seemed so angry, and she'd felt like she was being attacked, probably because her nerves were constantly on edge in this Maker-damned underground Void. With an apology on her lips, she nearly turned back to him. But if she apologized now, she'd have to explain the conversation she'd had with Urthemiel, and she just didn't have the energy for that at the moment.

Bownammar. That's all she cared about now. Finding Bownammar, and getting back to the surface. She'd worry about Alistair, and the archdemon, and what it all  _meant_  once they were back up on the surface. For now, she'd focus on taking each step as it came, and try to keep from biting someone's head off if they asked any more annoying questions. Or any questions at all.

With a shake of her head, she walked faster.

‹›‹O›‹›

According to Faren, the canyon along which they now walked was what gave the Deep Trenches their name, and Bownammar sat on the other side. They had yet to see the city, but Oghren's map did show the trench, as well as a bridge that crossed it, somewhere ahead, assuming it hadn't crumbled into the chasm below.

The canyon was now empty of darkspawn. As they traveled in a direction the dwarves promised was north, Rhianna and the others had seen not even a single one of the creatures. They must have headed in the opposite direction, because with every step, her sense of them lessened. The ringing in her ears dulled to a low hiss, and she no longer wished to tear through her itching skin. Mostly, she just felt exhausted. The companions traveled in silence, whether from being shaken by seeing the darkspawn and the archdemon, or by Rhianna's earlier outburst, she had no way of knowing. She didn't really care. She was just grateful that no one had asked more questions she didn't know how to answer. Certainly, there was no more talk of trying to kill the archdemon by themselves; even Sten had seems duly impressed by the dragon's size.

Idly, she wondered where the darkspawn might have gone. The dwarves assured her that Bownammar lie to the north, so the horde must have headed south. But why lay in that direction? As far as the companions had traveled, they must have left Ferelden behind, which meant they were now underneath the southern part of Orlais. Did the horde mean to attack the Dales? If so, that was good news for Ferelden - if the horde emerged on the western side of the Frostbacks, Ferelden might not come under attack at all.

Wasn't that a horrible though, though: hoping the Blight would strike Orlais instead of Ferelden? Except she wasn't hoping for that, not really. She didn't want the horde to attack anyone, ever.

The Blight needed to be stopped, no matter where the darkspawn headed next.

But how? How was she supposed to do this? Before, it had seemed possible. There had been darkspawn, but they were easy enough to kill. A dragon was impressive, but in theory, it was a foe that could be understood, and defeated. But now? Having seen the entirety of the horde - assuming that even was the entire horde - it was clear there were far too many darkspawn for several armies to defeat, let alone three Grey Wardens, and the few allies they had managed to raise.

Surely, there must be some hope. Duncan had seen the horde in his dreams, had known how large it truly was, and he'd seemed to believe this was a winnable fight. Unless he'd been lying about that all along. Perhaps he'd known there was no way the Wardens could succeed in ending this Blight, but had chosen to keep this to himself. Either way, Duncan was gone, and there were but three Wardens in all of Ferelden. Four, counting Jowan, if they'd had any way of putting him through the Joining.

Could they do this? Was there even the slightest chance they could succeed against a horde of this size?

_I need your help_

The archdemon's voice rasped through her memory. Was it a sincere plea? Or merely some sort of trick, to try and catch Rhianna off guard?

_I need your help_

No, it had been sincere. There had been an anguish in the dragon's voice that could not have been faked, and it was true that his mind had touched hers long before she became a Grey Warden. Somewhere inside, beneath the taint, Urthemiel was still there. And he wanted her help.

Perhaps this was the advantage she needed. If Urthemiel was still conscious, even in some small way, and wanted help, surely, he didn't intend to lead the horde against Ferelden. Darkspawn only gathered and acted together when led by an archdemon. If Rhianna could free Urthemiel from the taint, would the darkspawn cease to be a threat?

It was something to hope for, anyway, although hope felt like a worthless waste of time right now.

And what had he meant, that a 'creature' had awakened him? What creature? Did he mean the darkspawn? Weren't they the ones who found the archdemons and awoke them with the taint? That seemed the likeliest explanation, but for some reason, she had a feeling that Urthemiel had meant something else. Ah well, it was something to ask him about next time they spoke, although it was difficult to fathom how that would come to pass. Rhianna certainly had no intention of staying in the Deep Roads a minute longer than necessary, nor would she make any attempt to seek him out. He'd only been able to fight off the taint for a few minutes before it took control of him again, and turned him into a murderous beast.

"Guess what I found?" Once again Daveth had returned from scouting ahead. "I do believe there's a bridge up ahead."

"What did I tell you?" Oghren puffed out his chest. "All of you doubted me - don't try and say you didn't - but I was right! Bownammar is just on the other side, and if Branka's not there, I'll eat my left boot."

"Ah, then the rest of us will win, either way." Zevran glanced at Rhianna, and winked. "If we find this Branka, I have no doubt she will have many interesting things to share. And if we don't find her, we will have Oghren to entertain us."

Oghren glared at Zevran, but the elf merely flashed him a cheeky smile.

"Either way," Morrigan began, "we will be able to leave this foul place and return to the surface. I can think of nothing that would please me more."

Truer words had never been spoken.

They hurried their pace, eager to reach this bridge and, hopefully, Bownammar at long last. As they approached, they saw a flurry of activity - the clash of steel against steel rang in the air, and Rhianna's blood buzzed more urgently with the taint of nearby darkspawn.

A battle was in progress - darkspawn versus a group of well armored dwarves.

The companions drew their weapons and entered the fray. For several minutes, they joined the dwarves in fighting wave after wave of darkspawn who crossed the canyon on the bridge. When the last of them had been slain, Rhianna was exhausted, but turned her attention to the dwarves, who were eyeing her and her companions with curiosity.

A dwarf with a bold, dark blue facial tattoo across his forehead stepped up to greet them. He smiled, but his eyes were wary.

"Atrast vala, Grey Warden. I am Kardol. Legion of the Dead." He paused. "I can't say as I've ever seen one of your kind so far into the Deep Roads."

"One of my kind?" She paused to catch her breath. "Do you mean humans?"

"Heh, that, too, but I was talking about the Grey Wardens."

"I see. Either way, I'm Rhianna. But . . . how do you know I'm a Grey Warden?"

"Well, the Blight on the surface is obvious, even all the way down here. Not to mention no other humans could have survived all this way from Orzammar. Even so, the surprise is not that you've come, but that there are so few of you."

"So few?" She arched a brow. "I'll have you know that the three of us," she gestured at Alistair and Daveth, "represent the entirety of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden."

"That so?" The dwarf snorted. "Well, that's not saying much, is it? And just what is it you've come down here hoping to find? None of you look ready for your Calling, and you can't be in search of darkspawn, surely. I hear there's no shortage of them topside right now."

"You're right on both counts. No, we're looking for Paragon Branka, and all the evidence we've been able to uncover has led us here, to Bownammar."

"Paragon Branka? Who put this dull idea in your head? No wait - don't tell me. I can guess. King Endrin's dead, and the deshyrs can't make up their minds on a successor. I don't have any guess about how you got yourself knee-deep in dwarven politics - a Grey Warden and a human, to boot - but I'll wager one of the contenders has sent you down here. Looking for added influence. I get that right?"

"That's about it, yes. I've been promised that once a king is on the throne, Orzammar will send aid against the Blight. Although we're not just looking for Branka. We're also hoping to find the Anvil of the Void. It might prove very useful against the darkspawn. I don't suppose you've seen or heard anything that might point us in the right direction? Some word, or even a vague rumor?"

"Well, Warden, that's Bownammar on the other side of the trench, and you're welcome to go out there. I'm certainly not going to try and stop you. But even if you manage to make it back out alive, expect to leave here empty-handed. The Paragon is dead. Everyone with any sense knows that."

"Branka's not dead," Oghren said, his voice a bit belligerent. "We found evidence that she was coming right through here, after leaving Ortan Thaig."

Kardol glanced at Oghren through narrowed eyes, but when he spoke, he addressed Rhianna. "Like I said, everyone with any  _sense_  knows she's dead. If Branka came through here, it was before we arrived, and we've been here almost a year. And if she crossed that bridge, she's dead. No doubt of it. Past our line, the darkspawn kill everything. As for the Anvil, well of course I've heard of it. Like dusters have heard of respect. Never seen it, and if it exists, it wasn't meant for me. But," he shrugged, "if you want to go digging blind, be my guest. While you're out there looking for paragons, you may as well look for the Anvil. And endless lyrium. Might be griffons down here, too, for all I know."

Griffons would almost make this whole agonizing adventure worthwhile.

"I wish you luck," Kardol continued, "although I won't be holding my breath to hear back from you." He paused. "And Warden, watch yourself." He glanced at Oghren. "Drunks make poor allies."

Oghren made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded more like a growl than anything else, but didn't give any other response. Honestly, how could he argue? It was no secret that the dwarf spent just about all his time under the influence.

"I'll keep that in mind," Rhianna said lightly. "And thank you. If we find any griffons, you'll be the first to know."

‹›‹O›‹›

As they prepared to take their leave of the dwarves, and cross the bridge into the depths of the Deep Trenches, one of the Legion walked up to Rhianna.

"A minute of your time?"

"Of course," Rhianna replied. "What can I do for you?"

The dwarf pulled off her helmet to reveal a surprisingly young woman with hazel eyes, and auburn hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head. She had no tattoos on the light brown skin of her face.

"You said you're down here for one of the deshyrs? Trying to put a new king on the throne?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Then King Endrin really is dead?"

"Yes."

"Oh." The woman flinched, slightly, and gave a shake of her head. "That's that, then. We'd heard rumors, but nothing I credited as being reliable, until now."

"I expect it's difficult for news to travel down here. But King Endrin died a few months ago, and apparently failed to name a successor, at least to the satisfaction of the Assembly."

She chuckled. "Typical. He always did like to play games." She let out a breath, and caught Rhianna's gaze. "So, which one are you working for? Bhelen or . . . well, let's see. I'm guessing Harrowmont is most likely to have challenged the prince."

"I'm here on behalf of Prince Bhelen."

"Really?" The dwarf studied Rhianna's face through narrowed eyes. "Why?"

"The Assembly couldn't make a decision about who to put on the throne. Apparently, no one in Orzammar can give the Grey Wardens assistance against the Blight until there's a proper king. So, I decided I'd do what I could to speed that along."

"No, I get that. What I meant to ask is why Bhelen? Why not Harrowmont?"

"Honestly? Because Bhelen agreed to speak with me. We were turned away at Harrowmont's door without even a glimpse of the man. I'm really not in a position to judge who would make the better king - I know next to nothing about dwarven culture, let alone your politics - but I found myself disinclined to give my support to a man who wouldn't even take the time to meet with me. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," she shrugged. "I figured Bhelen would manage some way to take the throne. I just wasn't sure how he'd go about doing it. You do know that he's . . . rumored to have been responsible for the death of his brother, and the banishment of his sister?"

"Yes, I have heard those rumors, and others. Like I said, I'm not working with him because I think he's the best choice for king. But he's promised to provide troops to help me fight the Blight, and as long as he makes good on that promise, I will have gotten what I came for." She paused. "I hope that doesn't sound callous. It's not that I don't care about putting a good ruler on the throne . . . but to be honest, if the Assembly is willing to let an outsider have this much influence, then I suppose they don't get to complain about the result."

"Hah!" the woman laughed. "Callous? No, that doesn't sound callous. It sounds like dwarven logic, to me. I think you have a better grasp of our politics than you realize. And, for the record? I think you're backing the right man. Harrowmont is weak and far too conservative. Better for Bhelen to take the throne, shake things up a bit. Sometimes having the brains and the will to do whatever it takes to get what you want is a good quality in a king." She paused. "Anyway, I know you and your friends need to get on your way. To find Branka, if she's out there. Which, I suppose she might be. No matter what Kardol said, it is possible to survive the Deep Roads for a good long while, with a little knowledge and a lot of luck, especially now that the darkspawn are readying themselves to attack on the surface.  _Atrast tunsha_ , Grey Warden. And good luck. I hope you find what you need."

"Thank you. And the best of luck to you, as well."

"Luck? No, we don't need luck. Or haven't you heard? The members of the Legion are already dead. Every day we survive down here is another day we've cheated death." She smiled. "But thank you, anyway." She started to walk away, but then turned back to Rhianna. "Oh, and when you get back to Orzammar, will you do me a favor?"

"Of course," Rhianna agreed.

"Tell Bhelen that Sereda says hello."

‹›‹O›‹›

 

There is a song that accompanies this chapter, and[ it can be found here](http://heretherebdragons.tumblr.com/post/107753875912/here-is-my-newest-song-to-accompany-unshaken-by).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Sue_Donym_98, Yarnandtea, Calyah, DarkspawnHorror, LadyDarksbane, and Kenedii.
> 
> ETA: March 14, 2015 ~ I apologize for the recent lack of updates. I'm in the final stages of writing my master's thesis, and that's consuming most of my time (and mental energy). But as soon as it's finished, I'll be updating Unshaken again. I promise, it's not abandoned. Just on hiatus until May at the latest.


	48. First day they come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and her companions arrive at the fabled city of Bownammar.

__**30 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**The Deep Trenches** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

The 'City of the Dead' more than lived up to its name. Bownammar was a marvel of architecture and had perhaps been beautiful once, but now it was little more than a mausoleum. Massive statues honored the dead, and sarcophagi lined the walls of the grand chambers and hallways. As they moved through the city, Oghren pointed out places where chips had been chiseled from the walls, chips he claimed had been made by Branka, but Rhianna was skeptical. Surely, they could have been made by anyone during the past several hundred years, and she saw nothing to convince her that any living dwarves had passed through in recent months – certainly not Branka and her house of three hundred souls.

No, there was nothing to be found in Bownammar. Nothing but darkspawn, and the graves of countless, long-dead dwarves and whatever valuables had been buried with them. Rhianna was uncomfortable about opening these ancient graves, but decided to turn a blind eye when Zevran and Daveth lagged behind from time to time, no doubt looking to see what treasures they could find.

Finally, they reached the edge of the city. To the west, there were no more grand halls or bridges or temples, merely tunnels through the rock, narrower than any they had traveled before. These tunnels were, however, surprisingly well lit by fires that blazed in alcoves carved out of the rock. Even so, Rhianna had no desire to explore them, or anything else in this subterranean nightmare.

At the mouth of one of the tunnels, Rhianna called for the others to stop.

She turned her gaze on Oghren. "We've searched the entire city. Clearly, Branka is not here."

"I thought sure we'd find her in the city," Oghren said. "But no matter. She's close now, I can feel it."

"Can you?" Morrigan crossed her arms in front of her chest. She stared down at Oghren and then turned to Rhianna. "Please tell me that this is as far as we must travel through this miserable darkness. It is obvious this woman he seeks is nowhere to be found."

Morrigan's words echoed Rhianna's own thoughts exactly: it was time to abandon this pointless quest. Return to the surface, to sunlight and fresh air. Even if it meant the dwarves would not send aid against the Blight, so be it. Rhianna would find a way to manage without their assistance.

"Hey!" Oghren threw his hands in the air. "You said we could have three days. It hasn't been three days. And I was right about Bownammar, wasn't I? The city was exactly where I said it would be, and we saw plenty of signs that Branka passed through here. Besides, darkspawn wouldn't have lit up the tunnels like this. Has to be Branka. It  _has_  to be. We've got to keep searching. She's here somewhere nearby. I'm sure of it."

Damn it all. Oghren had a point. They had found the city, and she  _had_ promised three days. Even so, disappointment settled heavily in her belly, and it took all her will to force the words past her lips. "All right. We might as well explore these tunnels." She paused, as Morrigan's sigh of displeasure was drowned by Oghren's boisterous howl of victory. "But," she continued, "this is the last place we're going to look. If we don't find her, and soon, we are going back."

No one else seemed to have an opinion on the matter; probably, they were all too worn out to argue, one way or the other.

In silence, they left Bownammar behind and ventured into the system of tunnels.

Right away, signs of darkspawn became more frequent. Unidentifiable bones littered the dirt floor, and where the tunnels opened up into small caverns, the darkspawn had constructed grotesque 'sculptures' from the remains of their victims, similar to those Rhianna had seen at Ostagar. Some of the corpses looked too fresh to have been here for long – maybe Branka and her people  _had_  come through here not long ago. Rhianna didn't verbalize this thought, though. If she was right, at least some of the Branka's companions had met an unpleasant end.

There was something new here, as well: a network of 'pods' that seemed to grow directly out of the walls and floor. They glistened in the flickering torchlight, and, as impossible as it seemed, they appeared to be made of living flesh, slick with blood and pus. Whatever they were, Rhianna's stomach churned at the sight of them, and she tried not to think about what their purpose might be.

Alistair fell into step beside her. "I think this might be the awful-est place we've been yet." He paused. "And that is saying something."

In spite of everything, his comment made her chuckle. He wore the self-deprecating smile that usually meant he was trying to be cooperative. That was good. She wasn't in the mood to be yelled at again.

"Um, look . . ." He ran a hand through his hair. "I . . . well, I wanted to apologize for earlier. You know, for being angry that you hadn't told us about this . . . animal thing."

"Oh. All right," she replied. "I mean, thanks."

"It's actually really interesting that you can do that. I was just surprised to find out about it now . . . I mean, surprised that you hadn't told me sooner." He paused. "I guess . . . well, I wish we could trust one another, if you know what I mean?"

He thought she didn't trust him?

Was he right?

Perhaps he was.

"I'm not sure you're the best one to talk about trust," she said, as gently as possible. "After all, you kept a rather monumental secret of your own."

"Fair enough," he murmured. "But I thought . . . I thought we'd moved past that."

"I think we have," Rhianna mused. "Honestly, Alistair, this wasn't a matter of trust. I wasn't deliberately keeping it a secret from you. If the subject had come up, I'd have told you – which is exactly what happened today. It's just not something I volunteer lightly. I've been in the habit of not telling people my whole life. First, because I was afraid it was magic, and I'd be taken to Kinloch Hold, and later because I didn't want people to treat me differently because of it. Trying to take advantage of it, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I guess I do. I've had those thoughts a time or two myself, being King Maric's son and all. And I guess it makes sense that you wouldn't want to tell people. I just hoped . . ." He shrugged. "Nevermind that. Either way, can we agree that from here on out there won't be any more secrets? I'm not holding back anything earth-shattering, anyway." He studied her profile. "What about you?"

She didn't think she had any other secrets. Well, other than the fact that she and Loghain had been lovers. That, no doubt, would be earth shattering, from Alistair's perspective, but given the circumstances, it hardly seemed important. Whatever had been between Rhianna and Loghain was over, utterly and completely. And, to be honest, she didn't really trust Alistair not to be upset about it, and Rhianna didn't want to risk having yet another thing for them to argue about.

"No. Nothing important."

"Good." He leaned closer. "Do you think there's any chance at all we'll actually find this Branka person?" He glanced around. "This doesn't look like the sort of place someone could survive for any length of time."

"It doesn't, does it?" With every step, they'd moved deeper and deeper into territory that none but darkspawn had likely ever tread. "I don't see how Branka could be alive down here."

"Just so you know," he began, "I didn't want to say anything earlier, not with Oghren so excitable. But whenever you decide that it's time to go back to the surface, I won't complain." He paused. "The sooner the better, really."

There was an almost pleading note in his voice. He hated being down here, just as she did. Probably all of them hated it, other than the dwarves.

It was time to finish this, Oghren's three days be damned. Rhianna raised her arm, a signal for the others to halt. She would put an end to this right now.

But before she could speak, Daveth's voice echoed from somewhere in front of them, where he'd been scouting ahead. "Rhianna? I think you should see this!"

With a glance at the others, she hurried in the direction Daveth had traveled.

They found him waiting at a juncture between the natural tunnel and a passageway that had clearly been made by sentient hands.

"This looks dwarven, doesn't it?"

"You can bet your britches it is!" Oghren stepped forward and ran his hand along a small chip in one of the walls. "Branka's been here. She's so close now, I can practically taste her!"

He marched forward into the dwarven hallway. So much for turning back now.

"At least we'll be out of those bare tunnels," Daveth shrugged, with a grin that seemed forced. "There's a mercy, anyways."

At first, as they followed Oghren through the hallways, Rhianna agreed. While these passages weren't nearly as large or grand as Bownammar's, and darkspawn corruption crept relentlessly across the floors and walls, there was comfort in the thought that dwarven feet had trod these halls at some point in the past.

The comfort didn't last long, however. As they went deeper into this section of ruins, something was . . . different. It wasn't the immediate buzzing that clawed in her belly and beneath her skin when darkspawn were very near, nor was it the persistent tingle that she'd felt when they'd been close to the horde. This was subtle, less of a physical sensation. Instead, it tugged at her mind in a way that was maddening and alluring, in equal parts.

Whatever it was, she didn't like it.

"Wait." Leliana gestured for everyone to stop. "Do you hear that?"

Rhianna cocked her head and listened.

At first, there was nothing but the shuffling of booted feet against the floor, as her companions came to a halt. In the silence that followed, she heard it. A woman's voice, singing, somewhere up ahead.

"I hear it," Rhianna replied. She closed her eyes, and focused on the song. It was faint, but she could make out some of the words.

" _Fourth day we wait and . . . our fate_

_Fifth day . . . and it's another . . . turn"_

"Surely," Leliana said, "that cannot be the darkspawn." She turned to Oghren. "Perhaps it is your Branka?"

Oghren's nose wrinkled. "Don't think Branka knows any songs, let alone wants to sing them. But it's bound to be someone from her house. It's bound to be!"

They followed the sound of the woman's voice through the hallway. The song had the cadence of a child's nursery rhyme, something to sing while jumping rope. As they grew closer, the words were easier to make out.

" _Eighth day she hated as she was violated  
_ _Ninth day she grins and devours her kin"_ __  


Maker. That was no children's rhyme. What on earth sort of song was it?

They arrived at a large rectangular room As soon as they entered, Rhianna nearly retched at the gruesome sight that greeted her eyes, and the smell of decay that assaulted her nostrils. Reeking, putrid flesh covered the floors and walls, and butchered corpses hung on pikes – surely, the work of the darkspawn. At her side, Dane gave a low, unhappy whine.

But, unbelievably, the figure who knelt in the center of the room was no darkspawn. It was a woman – a dwarven woman – presumably the singer of the song they'd followed here.

Blessed Andraste, was this Branka? Had they found her at last?

A glance at Oghren - and his frown of displeasure - told her that this wasn't the case. But if this wasn't Branka, then who was she?

Before anyone could speak, the woman began once more to sing, as though aware she now had an audience.

_First day they come and catch everyone_  
_Second day they beat us and eat some for meat_  
_Third day the men are all gnawed on again_  
_Fourth day we wait and fear for our fate  
_ _Fifth day they return and it's another girl's turn_

_Sixth day her screams we hear in our dreams_  
_Seventh day she grew as in her mouth they spew_  
_Eighth day we hated as she is violated_  
_Ninth day she grins and devours her kin  
_ _Now she does feast, as she's become the beast_

Rhianna's stomach lurched, and she fought back a wave of nausea. That was definitely no rhyme to be sung by children.

After the final line of the song, the dwarf struggled awkwardly to her feet. She turned, and Rhianna struggled not to back away at the sight of the woman's face. Her skin was mottled, and a pale film obscured the color of her eyes. Her lips were chapped and split, and her head hung to one side as though she lacked the strength to hold it upright.

"What is this? A human? Bland and unlikely." The woman's voice was flat, and the hunch of her shoulders was reminiscent of Ruck. "Feeding time brings only kin and clan. I am cruel to myself." She turned away. "You are nothing more than a dream of strangers' faces and open doors. Nothing more than a dream."

"No." Rhianna took a small step closer. "I am no dream. My companions and I are really here."

"Perhaps . . ." She peered up at Rhianna's face. "You do look solid, and my visions don't usually speak." She shrugged and turned away again. "But it matters not. You should leave. There is nothing for you here. There is nothing here at all but torment and things worse than death."

Yes. They  _should_ leave. The sensation tugging at Rhianna's mind had grown stronger, and she wanted nothing more than to turn and run from this place as fast and as hard as she could. But she didn't turn, didn't move away from this woman who seemed in such desperately dire straits.

"Is there something . . . anything . . . we can do? To help you?"

"Help?" She chuckled tiredly. "No. No, there isn't. There's nothing left. There's body and there's hope. And both are turning . . ."

"She's probably right," Alistair murmured. "That looks like an advanced case of darkspawn corruption. There's not anything we can do for her."

"Corruption," Hespith cried out. "No, that is for the men! Their wounds fester and their minds leave. The men receive their mercy. The men . . . they kill, like dogs, marched ahead, the first to die. But not the women. Not us. The women, they . . . want."

Maker's blood, what was she talking about?

"By the Stone." Oghren stepped forward, his voice strained. "I think I know this woman. Hespith, is that you?"

She barely looked up, and seemed not to recognize the man who had spoken. "Hespith. I was called that once. But that was before . . . before they made me eat."

"Made you eat?" Oghren's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

She squinted up at him. "Don't you know?" Again, she began to sing. "' _First day they come and catch everyone, second day they beat us, and eat some for meat. Third day the men are all gnawed on_ -'"

"Please stop," Rhianna interrupted. "Please." The nausea had returned with the first few words of that chant, and Rhianna couldn't bear to hear the entire thing again. Something was happening here, something she didn't understand. Something she didn't want to understand. And she never wanted to hear those words again. Never.

"Stop?" Hespith shook her head. "But I can't stop. It's the only place I can hide. I force it into verse so it is fantasy. Unreal." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But I can't stop. It's what I've seen. What I will become, because they make me eat." Her voice grew louder. "They come. They vomit, they violate, and they chant. They scream, oh how they scream. Then the change comes."

"The . . . change?" Wynne asked the question they'd surely all been thinking.

"It's the women they want. We don't have the luxury of death. Not us. Not me. Not Laryn. They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them." Hespith caught Rhianna's gaze. "We are not cut. We are  _fed_. They take us, they fill us. Friends and flesh and blood and bile and . . . then we make more of them."

Again, Oghren came forward. "What's that about Laryn?"

She turned her eyes on Oghren. "They took Laryn. They took her, and all I could do was be grateful Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared." She pressed her eyes closed. "But I wasn't spared. I had to watch. They made her eat the others. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood." Her eyes flew open, and again, she turned to Rhianna. "And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned grey and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image, and then she made more of them. And I watched. I had to see the change." Finally she looked away. "How do you endure a thing like that?"

This had to be a dream, something created by a feverish mind ravaged by darkspawn corruption, an artefact of being trapped down here far too long on her own. Because what she described . . . it couldn't possibly be real.

"The Stone punishes me, dream-friend." Hespith's shoulders twitched, and she curled in on herself. "I am dying of something worse than death. I am dying of betrayal. The true abomination is not that it occurred, but that it was  _allowed_. Oh, Branka, my love . . ." The name caught in her throat.

"Branka," Oghren growled. "What happened to Branka?"

"Ancestors forgive me. I was her captain and I didn't stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her . . ." She shook her head. "No. She cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did, for what she has become." She caught Rhianna's gaze again. "There is too much darkness here, and there was nothing left in her but the Anvil. In the darkness, surrounded by it, pulling Branka in."

The Anvil?

Before she could ask about it, Oghren spoke, his voice excited now. "You've seen Branka? Where? Where is she? When did you last see her?"

Hespith shrugged. "It was long enough. No longer than a few breaths, but longer than an eon. Long enough to miss her . . . to love her again . . ." Hespith's lip curled. "To hate her more than ever. Blessed Stone, we tried to escape, but . . . no." She shook her head violently. "No . . . I swore not to speak of it, not to think of it. I will hear no more about Branka. I will not speak of what she did, of what we she has become!"

"Tell me!" Oghren grabbed Hespith's shoulders, and shook her. "Tell me where she is!"

"Oghren, stop!" Rhianna pulled him off of the dwarven woman. "Leave her be!"

"Sod it all," he growled, "She's crazier than a cave tick on a dead nug, but if she's still alive, then Branka must be as well." His hands had balled into fists. "I need her to tell me what she knows!"

Rhianna turned to Hespith, but the dwarven woman had hunched in on herself, and whispered the words of the chant under her breath.

Branka be damned, Rhianna needed to get away from here, away from this woman. Away from the stench of death and decay that surrounded her, and from horror that bloomed in Rhianna's belly at the sound of that Maker-damned chant.

"Leave her. I don't think she has anything more to tell us." Rhianna put a hand on Oghren's shoulder. "If Branka's nearby, we'll find her."

They left the dwarven woman behind, and moved deeper into the ruins. As they walked, the tunnels grew more cramped, and the fires that illuminated the darkness were fewer and farther between. The ground beneath their feet was no longer entirely dirt and stone. In some places they walked over what looked like patches of exposed flesh. Rhianna knelt, and put her fingers to one of the patches. It was slightly warm and sticky, and when she pressed down upon it, it yielded beneath her touch. She shuddered as she stood and continued down the path, taking care to step only on solid stone.

What in the Maker's name was happening here?

The tunnel opened up into a cavern. Here, the light was reddish and strange, no longer the orangey, warm firelight that had lit their way thus far. Something was wrong here, desperately wrong, but Rhianna couldn't stop moving forward, almost as if she were being beckoned on by something outside of herself, something that wanted her to come closer.

With the others at her heels, she rounded a curve in the tunnel, and stepped into the dimly-lit cavern. 

Rhianna clutched at Zevran's arm as she stumbled backward in horror. At the far end of the cavern was a . . . creature. Sweet, blessed Andraste, but it was hideous, disgusting. Far worse than anything Rhianna could have possibly imagined.

The thing was a great mound of flesh. Rolls upon rolls of flesh that cascaded to the floor, each bearing a set of teats and nipples that grew large and grotesquely misshapen near the ground. It was as tall as it was wide - easily twice as tall as Alistair – and its head seemed tiny in comparison to its obscenely obese body, with eyes barely visible beneath the depths of a jutting brow. Behind the thing, two huge tentacles – as tall and wide as trees – waved back and forth. Others emerged from the ground all around the creature, undulating like blades of grass in a slight breeze. The ground itself was covered almost entirely in stinking, oozing flesh like that in the tunnels.

"Maker's blood," Alistair murmured. "What in the name of all that is holy is that thing?"

The creature turned its head in their direction, and roared – a sound filled with rage and agony and despair. The tentacles that grew from the floor began to whip violently back and forth, and new ones erupted from the fleshy patches on the floor. Could all of this be a single creature? A tentacle lashed out at Rhianna's head, and she leapt backwards to dodge it.

Whatever it was, it was about to die.

"Take out the tentacles first," she shouted, "and keep your feet on the stone!"

‹›‹O›‹›

In the end, it was Oghren who finished the creature off. When they'd fought off dozens of tentacles, as well as a swarm of darkspawn, Oghren gave a battle cry that echoed off the walls, and charged at the thing, hammer held high. The creature screamed and spat as Oghren leapt over a tentacle that tried to strike him, and ran up the folds in the creature's flesh. With a sickening crunch, Oghren drove the hammer directly into its face. The thing gave one final, agonized moan, and slumped forward, dead. The few remaining tentacles stopped writhing, and fell limp to the ground.

"Arrrrr, get it off me! Get it off me!" Oghren stumbled off of the creature's corpse and fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his face.

"Oghren?" In an instant, Wynne was at his side. "What is it? What's happened?" She pulled at his hands to reveal that one side of his face was covered in some sort of thick, bright green mucous.

"That sodding thing  _spit_  on me," the dwarf raged.

A smile flickered across Wynne's lips at this comment, but it faded as she cleaned his face with her handkerchief. With each pass of the cloth, beneath the foul, thick slime, Oghren's skin was raw and bloody. A steady stream of curses left Oghren's lips while Wynne worked, until she whispered the soft words of a healing spell and let the soothing blue glow of magic do its work.

"Ahhhh, much obliged." Oghren ran his hands across his face, as if feeling to make sure everything was still there. "Sod it all, but that hurt. Burned, even worse than the rash I got once." He grinned up at Wynne. "Wish I'd known you back then. Sodding thing took three different creams to get rid of. Magic's much quicker, isn't it," he winked.

Wynne arched a brow at the dwarf. "Indeed."

As Wynne helped Oghren to his feet, Rhianna surveyed the cavern. It seemed as though the tentacles had been part of the creature they'd fought. Was that true of the rest of this fleshy substance as well? Not only were there patches on the floor, but thick, ropy strands as thick as Rhianna's arms spanned the space above her head. With Dane at her side, she followed one of the strands across the room and out into a side tunnel. It terminated at a fleshy 'pod' similar to those they had passed on the way in. Dane bared his teeth and growled with displeasure.

Rhianna felt the same. What in the world was it?

She drove her sword into one end of the pod and tore upward through what felt like human skin. Stinking yellow pus oozed from the 'wound' she had made, and when she had split the thing nearly in two, something slid out onto the ground at her feet. It was a lump of flesh nearly as big as Dane, and slick and red with blood. When she prodded it with the toe of her boot, and flipped it onto its other side, it twitched and writhed for a moment before it lay still. Dane barked at the thing and backed away.

What in the world . . .?

It was a creature of some sort, with arms and legs not yet fully formed. The features on its face were blurry and flat, and its skin was translucent and gelatinous, like unbaked dough.

A genlock. Maker's blood. It was a genlock. Or rather, something that was in the process of becoming a genlock. And it had been attached with living flesh, like an insanely long umbilical cord, to the creature they had just slain . . .

Blessed Andraste. Was this the meaning of Hespith's poem? The explanation for all the mad things she'd said?

_Seventh day she grew as in her mouth they spew . . .Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._

Rhianna's sword clattered to the ground as the remains of her breakfast came back up, spilling onto the half-formed genlock. She fell to her knees, and Dane whimpered softly at her side as her stomach heaved again, and again. Gentle hands gripped her shoulders and held her shuddering body steady as she continued to retch, even though there was nothing more to come up but bile. When the spasms stopped, she let her head hang as she struggled to catch her breath, and waited to see if she would be sick again.

Finally, she tried to push herself up off the ground, but didn't have the strength, and fell back onto the stone floor.

" _Cara mia_." Zevran tugged at her shoulders. "Let me help you."

She couldn't get words to come out, so she merely nodded her assent and allowed Zevran to pull her up to her feet. Her head swam, and Zevran put an arm around her waist to steady her. She leaned against him, closed her eyes, and took one deep breath after another to force back the last wave of nausea.

When her stomach had calmed, she opened her eyes to discover the rest of her companions had gathered nearby. They looked at her with concerned expressions, all except Sten, whose eyes shone with something that looked more like pity.

"I understand it now." Rhianna forced the words past her parched lips. "I understand all of it. The darkspawn . . . feed pieces of themselves to dwarven women, maybe other women as well. They taint them, and rape them, and it changes them. Changes them into creatures, like the one we just fought. That thing in there . . ." Rhianna gestured toward the cavern, "she gave birth to all these darkspawn and Maker knows how many others, but before she became a . . . a broodmother . . . she was . . ." Rhianna struggled to catch her breath. "She was a dwarf called Laryn." A sob escaped her throat, and Zevran held her more tightly.

She caught Alistair's gaze. "This is why there aren't many women in the Grey Wardens, isn't it? Because it's not safe. Because we can be turned into creatures like that. I could be turned into a creature like that."

His eyes were wide and bright. "Rhianna, I . . . I had no idea."

Of course he didn't. How could anyone know this and carry on? Only . . . someone must know. The Grey Wardens  _must_ know, after so many ages of battling darkspawn. Did Duncan know? Had he recruited Rhianna and Solona, knowing full well that this is what they might become?

Oh Maker. What was it Morrigan had said about Ostagar? That the darkspawn dragged the survivors away? What if Solona hadn't died during the battle. What if she hadn't been killed at all . . .

"Now you see." Hespith's voice rasped at Rhianna's side, and Rhianna started at the sound; she hadn't heard the dwarven woman approach. When Rhianna turned, Hespith held her gaze. "Now you know. That's where they come from. That's why they hate us . . . that's why they need us. That's why they take us . . . that's why they feed us."

"What can we do?" Rhianna's breath came faster. "How can I help you? How can I stop this from happening to you?"

"It is . . . too late for me." Hespith shook her head. "They spit bile in my mouth, and blood, and . . . I am full of them, only a step away from Laryn. I dream I am away, but real safety? That means accepting, and I will not. I would rather die than bring that with me." She took a single step closer, her eyes never leaving Rhianna's face. "That's how you can help me." She paused. "Please."

Rhianna's lower lip trembled. "Yes."

Hespith closed her eyes, and a smile fluttered across her lips, the first Rhianna had seen. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."

Rhianna left Zevran's side, and moved behind the dwarven woman. With her dagger in her right hand, she reached her other arm around Hespith's waist and held her close. The dwarven woman rested one of her hands atop Rhianna's.

"Return to the Stone, my friend," Rhianna whispered close to Hespith's ear. Oh, how did the dwarves wish one another farewell? She'd heard it . . . " _Atrast tunsha_." Yes, that was it.

Hespith's grasp tightened on Rhianna's arm, just slightly. A signal that she was ready.

Rhianna pulled her dagger across Hespith's throat with a single, unhesitating stroke. Hespith's back arched, and her knees buckled, and Rhianna tightened her hold on the woman's waist, to keep her from falling. Instead, she eased Hespith down to the ground, and cradled her in her arms as the dwarven woman's life drained swiftly away. A tear slid down Rhianna's cheek, and then another, but Rhianna made no effort to wipe them away.

Barely a minute had passed before Hespith went limp and silent in Rhianna's arms. Carefully, gently, Rhianna eased herself out from under the dead woman, leaving her to lay on the stone floor.

"We can't just leave her here," Rhianna murmured. "Not like this."

"We won't leave her," Faren replied. "We'll give her a proper return to the stone." Zevran helped Rhianna to her feet while Faren, Oghren and Sten picked up Hespith's body, and carried her back into the dwarven-built tunnels. The companions stood in silent vigil as the woman was laid out in an alcove carved from the wall.

" _Atrast tunsha_ , sister," Faren murmured. " _Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc_. I wish you the Stone's blessing."

Rhianna felt empty inside, hollow, as she tore her gaze from Hespith's body and stared down at her hands, stained red and sticky with blood. She needed to wash them - to wash the blood and sweat and scent of taint from her skin – but even more than that, she needed to be away from this place.

"Let's keep going," she said. "Hespith said Branka was nearby, and spoke of her in the present tense, so it seems there is some chance she's still alive." Of course, they'd just learned that death was not the worst fate that could befall a woman down here. Hadn't Hespith said something about Branka, and what she had 'become.' It was possible they were too late, and she'd already been transformed into one of those . . . things. Rhianna didn't speak these thoughts, though. Surely, this had already occurred to the others. Besides, if that had happened, they needed to find her, and put her out of her misery. "We'll press a bit further on," she continued. "But if we don't find her soon – within the next few hours - we  _are_  returning to the surface."

Even Oghren made no argument.

The companions, mostly silent, collected their things, and made their way into the tunnels and through the cavern where the broodmother's corpse cooled. Alistair or Sten, or one of the others, ran a sword through each and every one of the fleshy pods they passed, making sure that none of the gestating darkspawn survived the death of their 'mother.'

As they left the cavern behind, the unimaginable weight of the stone above her head no longer seemed so terrifying. Being crushed or buried down in this darkness – the fear that had tormented every waking moment, and most of her dreams for these past months – no longer sent a shiver of fear down her spine. Something far worse than death waited for her in this darkness, if she became careless, or separated from the others, or overwhelmed during battle. Being crushed by the stone itself would be a mercy in comparison.

"Zevran?" She hung back and waited for the others to move out of earshot, while the elf moved to her side.

"Yes?"

"I need you to promise me something." She put her hand on his arm, and glanced back to where the dead broodmother lay, and then she met his eyes. "If there comes a time where there is a chance that I might be captured, any chance at all . . ."

A furrow formed across his brow, and he gave a slow nod. "I understand,  _bella_." His eyes never left hers. "Those creatures will never take you alive, not while I draw breath. This, I promise."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to my wonderful reviewers – KatDancer, Yarnandtea, LadyDarksbane, Chris, Aston, Ehliena, and Caramelized - and to everyone who left kudos during my hiaitus. And thanks to all my readers for your patience, in waiting for this chapter to be published. The good news is that I have successfully defended my master's thesis (YAY!), so future chapters should arrive in a much more timely manner. Expect another chapter sometime in the next week or two.
> 
> Also, I've recorded a version of Hespith's chant, which I think is suitably creepy. You'll find it by poking around in Chapter 3 of my "Extras" work for this series.


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